


Tension

by pandapop



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Drama, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I gave Tord a conscience fite me, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Oh and Tord too, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, SO MUCH LANGUAGE, Slow Burn, Tom can't cook, Tom cares about Edd and Matt more than he cares to admit it, Tom has dreams sometimes, Unrequited Love, You've been warned, actually they're both angsty, and way too extra, but not the kind you expected, edd and matt might be a thing, from tom, future one-sidedness, plot twist ooOoOoH, ringo is a smol lil pea, seems slow-paced but actually isnt, smol humor, this is why you dont leave them alone guys, tom is super angsty, trigger warning at certain chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandapop/pseuds/pandapop
Summary: One apartment. Four friends-two enemies, and the other two conveniently put away by fate, leaving said enemies alone. Together. In one apartment. With brooding issues, questionable hatred, a couple addictions, the teeny, weeny, tiniest trace of growing interest, and one's dangerously growing unfinished business at the side...something's bound to happen, right?-Takes place around 6 to 8 months after The End-





	1. Prologue

_Edd looked outside the window of their fairly small home. It was nice and cozy out, he had his smeg t-shirt on and a good ol’ cup of coke in his hand. He was in bedhead, and stretched out his sleepiness under the rays of the morning sun. Content, he sips from his coke and yawns in satisfaction._

_He’s not a morning person, in fact he’d never would have woken up at this ungodly hour(not even for a can of cola), but the fact that Tom went out of bed early to buy new strings for Susan and Tord eating an early breakfast out with Matt, he just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have the house silent and all to himself._

_“What a lovely day, I must say.” Edd says as a rock comes flying towards the window. “Such a peaceful—wait what.” He squint his eyes._

_“Oh wait, it’s a toaster.”_

_Was the last thing he said before it crash-landed on his face._


	2. Sh*tty morning for a sh*tty beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this so bad *laugh and sobs mixed together into one sad pile of sad*

They were out of strings, again.

Tom glares at a particular shelf where he picks up new strings for Susan every other month, muttering to himself. He had been looking forward to replacing her strings all week, and every single day they were always out of strings. He understood that he wasn’t the only person in town to have a bass(though nobody could ever be as lovely as Susan) and that maybe other fellows in search of the same strings as him just so happen to be fortunate enough to get their hands on them first, but that doesn’t change the fact that it has been a week of this occurrence.

Yesterday he posted a demand on the supermarket counter and the cashier in charge caught him doing so, promising him that new stocks would be coming in first thing in the morning.

And...here he fucking is, first thing in the morning. He's in nothing but his grey shirt and sweatpants. He was in such a hurry that he didn’t even bother to put his hoodie on. It doesn’t make sense.

What else that doesn’t make sense is how early he decided to wake up for this. He looked at the large clock above the next stall. Six in the morning. What the fuck.

Deciding he couldn’t let his sacrificed early morning sleep to waste, Tom sighed and picks up the nearest item to him which was…a mystery keychain box.

“These things exist?” Tom asked sleepily to himself as he examines the box. It’s like one of those anime character eggs that you can get a variety of(Tom momentarily spaces out wondering how he knows about that), which in this case really is a mystery since there’s not even a list of possible kinds of key chains you can get behind the box, Tom noticed. He wasn’t really in the mood to care and shrugged, gulping from his flask(which he purposely brought instead of his hoodie) as he walked over to the counter with the box in his free hand.

The cashier was shuffling around behind the counter when something vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and it was his phone, and it’s ringing. Someone’s calling him.

Tom raises a brow. That has never happened before. He gets a few calls from time to time, sure, but they were all from his housemate Matt, and Matt only calls because he thinks it’s funny to call people. With that said, Matt doesn’t count. But his phone’s still ringing, and he blocked Matt’s number…

As though his drowsiness from waking up early in the morning magically disappeared, Tom answers the call and reluctantly brings it up to his ear. “Uh…hello? Who is this?”

A shuffle, and then, _“Your lord and savior,”_

The voice drew chills up Tom’s spine and he jumps, the sleepy cashier giving him a look.

He knew this stupid voice(and it’s stupid accent)really, really well and that was a good enough reason to slap himself in the face for a quick reality check.

“…Tord.”

_“Duh.”_

Tom rubs the sore cheek he just slapped. It’s definitely real. Everyone was still asleep when he went out to the supermarket. How is Tord up this early? And calling him? Calling _him,_ Tom, of all people? At six in the fucking morning?  The last time Tord even talked to him without starting a fight was two days ago, but right now he sounds strangely normal. There’s even a hint of worry that Tom picked up on from his sarcastic tone. What’s going on?

“…what the fuck do you want?”

Well, that came out wrong.

_“Well, pissy Jehovah,  me and Matt couldn’t go back to sleep after we fought over the bathroom, so we went out for breakfast.”_

“Why did you—“

_“We both needed to let out an early morning piss, stupid. “_

Bitch. “You little—“ Tom stopped, remembering the cashier in front of him. Good thing he was early enough that no one else was lining up behind him. He sucks in a breath of air, taking out a few bucks, “Is there any other reason you’re calling me other than to act like a total bitch? How did you even get my number?”

_“As a matter of fact fuckface, yes there is a reason.”_ Tom nearly retorts when he continues, _“Also, we share a room.”_

Tom frowns, “That still doesn’t explain how you would get my number.” They do in fact, share a room. Ever since Tord came back for good one day, Edd decided that since Tom was the one with the least stuff that Tord should share a room with him. It felt like he still didn’t have a choice, no matter how much he refused to. It was his flat, he fucking bought it when he initially left their house, yet Edd still makes the decisions. And although he could understand why Tord wouldn’t want to share a room with Matt, and how Edd has a buttload of stuff, it still doesn’t explain why Tord couldn’t just get the empty room that Edd decided to turn into his personalized cola storage room.

He bought that flat to get away from Tord, and ended up with Tord anyway.

Although the perks of having them completely loathe each other included ‘keeping away from each other’s shit’, which they literally wrote on the center of the wall that officially divided their spaces along with a few other notes. But in order for Tord to know his number that would mean he did go through his shit…

“Did you go through my shit you bloody commie?”

_“Fuck no. I asked Matt you dumbass.”_

“Then what the hell does that have to do with us sharing a room?”

_“The fact that I have the right to act like a total bitch.”_

“…I’m hanging up.”

_“No wait—ugh, goddamn it Jehovah! Listen to me for five fucking seconds and this conversation will be over.”_

“Why should I—“

_“Matt got food poisoning.”_

Tom scoffs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever…what?”

 “Sir, this costs ten bucks. You gave me five.”

Tom blinks. “Wha—ten bucks?! It’s a keychain!”

“And it has a price tag that says ten fucking bucks. Now pay up.” Tom glares at the cashier, the latter shrugging in response. He couldn’t figure out whether to just throw the box and hightail it out of there, or kick this bitchy teenager in the face. Although he wouldn’t blame her for getting so pissy at a drunk man on his twenties yelling at his phone and holding up the non-existent line—okay his thoughts are getting a bit off track here.

_“A little trouble over there Jehovah?”_

“Shut up.” Tom groans and shoves the money into her hands, grabs the keychain box anyway and sprints out of the place. “Where are you?!”

* * *

 

“About fucking time,” is what Tord greets Tom with when he enters the room, signature annoying smirk intact.

Tom shoots him a dirty look, putting a hand up against the wall whilst struggling to catch his breath. “What the hell happened?”

To answer his question, Matt moans in pain from the other side of the room. Tord gestures. “That.”

The brit walked over to the bed, shoving past Tord who returns the gesture with a glare, and finds his housemate and friend…in quite possibly the most horrifying sight he’s seen of him up to date.

Matt’s face was swelling heavily, bloated like a gigantic red balloon, his once flawless skin covered in blotches from the waist up. His arms made it very clear that he was experiencing hives, and if it weren’t for the unmistakable ginger hair poking out at the top of his head, Tom could barely recognize him. “Holy…this is food poisoning?”

“I, uh, got it mixed up.” Tord sounded rather sheepish, not looking Tom in the eye as the drunkard turns to face him. Now that Tom was paying attention he noticed the exhaustion plastered across Tord’s appearance—disheveled hair, and weird looking stains on his red hoodie. Now he understands why his voice sounded that way on the phone. “It was a severe allergic reaction to seafood, it seems.”

“It seems?! Look at him, he’s a fucking mess!”

“I’m right here.” Matt reminds, his voice coming out groggy and unMatt-like. He’s not exactly please to know the current state his face is in.

“When’s the doctor coming back?”

“If I remember correctly, he said he’d come back wheeeeen you’re dead.” Tord already has his hands up before Tom can shoot him a glare, “Easy there Jehovah, can’t take a joke?”

Tom ignores him. He’s not getting anywhere with this damn commie, so he’ll just have to wait it out.

“Need a drink?” Matt perks up at the question and nods, or at least moves his head as much as he can. Tom drops the box he bought at a nearby chair and looks around for a water dispenser, finding one at a corner across from Matt’s bed and starts preparing a cup. Tord stands up, about to ask Matt if there was anything else he could do for him when Tom suddenly spins around. “Okay, so, exactly…how did you mistake food poisoning,” he gestures with hands, “to an allergic reaction?”

“Hey,” Tord walks over, snatching the cup from his hand and pointing it at Matt, “Just so you know, he’s been vomiting heavily before we even got here, fuckface. How was I supposed to know? I’m not a fucking doctor.”

“You don’t need to be a doctor to know the difference.”

Tord’s brow twitches. “Are you implying that I’m stupid?”

“I don’t know, are you?” Tom taunts, rolling his shoulders.

Tord’s eyes are glistening, and stares him down for a good two seconds before walking away.

Tom stands dumbfounded as he watches Tord walk over to Matt, handing him the cup of water. The man gratefully takes it, gulping it down greedily. As if sensing Tom’s confusion(evidently, they’d usually be at each other’s throats by now),  Tord sighs. “There are cops downstairs.” He says in a low voice, “I was just trying to avoid them as much as possible because, in case your dumb ass already forgot, I’m still on the wanted list. Not really the best decision to kick your ass and gain attention, hm?”

Tord returns to his seat, poking the side of his forehead with a smug smile on his face. “Not stupid.”

Tom rolls his eyes and grabs the chair next to Tord, dragging it next to Matt’s bed while muttering incoherent words to himself. The norski watches the angry brit in amusement before leaning his head against the wall for a quick nap.

The frustrated man rubbed at his eyeless sockets, envious that Matt had seemingly fallen to sleep already. In fact, everybody’s been getting better sleep than him. It’s not like they have to share a room with a stupid, arrogant, evil, unpredictable communist who could kill him in his sleep at any moment. If he had it his way, he’d call those cops over in a heartbeat. He doesn’t need him. In fact, none of them do. Edd and Matt…they’re just too forgiving. Too kind. Too trusting.

Too stupid.

He might even be the one who’s responsible for Matt’s situation, even though it’s much more likely Matt brought it on himself. He doesn’t bother to ask, the whole thing just looks like another stupid accident.

Then again…

Tom couldn’t help but take another drink from his flask. These bitter thoughts have been haunting him since that damned man returned to their doorstep, and have been tormenting every single day of his life since with his mere presence.

Needless to say, Tom’s no longer surprised that this day’s starting to turn out horrible.

“I can hear your pessimistic thoughts from here.”

“Shut up norski.” Tom leans back in his seat, determined to catch up on some bit of sleep as well. The clock hanging above Matt’s bed shows that it was a little over seven, which means maybe he’ll have some spare time to make another trip to the store once he’s settled down with this issue.

And also avoid being home alone with the Norwegian. And Edd. Tom sighed in relief, he almost forgot about him. Thank goodness for Edd. Though he probably wouldn’t leave the both of them alone in the apartment anyways—he’s grown tired of more and more stuff breaking over their fights.

Tom nearly drifts to sleep with the comforting thought of Edd, faintly hearing a familiar voice echo from outside.

“…”

Wait a minute.

“Tord.”

“I heard.” The Norwegian’s already up with his ear to the door, checking to see if he heard it right. Tom walks over to do the same thing, leaning his ear next to the door facing away from Tord’s head.

“Wasn’t that Edd?”

“I don’t think. He didn’t pick up when I called—” Tord turns his head to meet face to face with Tom’s nape, blinking before quickly stepping back. He clears his throat, “So unfortunately, I only got you to come.”

Tom rolls his eyes, as if he had any, then grimaces at the scars on Tord’s cheek. He’s been ignoring them since he got here, heck since Tord returned actually, but he can’t help locking his eyes on it from time to time. He…caused it, after all.

Tord clears his throat again, Tom shaking his head back to reality. “Right, uh I was just—” he says as he opens the door, his eyes travelling across the hallway and stopping, along with his breath, at a particular figure in a wheelchair, in a green hoodie, and what seems to be a household appliance sticking to half of his face.

If it weren’t for the sound of Tord’s cellphone dropping to the ground beside him, he could’ve sworn the Smirnoff finally fucked with his brain, maybe even more so than it already has.

“Edd?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i suck at writing. it'd help me a great deal if you guys could point out what i particularly suck at. thank you :)  
> also, i used to laugh at how it became apparent that writers write at like one in the morning it almost seemed fake and then realized that by the time i wrote this chapter it was like...2. hYpOcRiSy


	3. He's actually doing this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tord's a mystery ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Edd looks ridiculous.

As stupid as it may seem, it’s the first thought that came across the brit’s mind as he shared a concerned look with Tord before calling out to the subject of their reactions.

“Edd?!”

Their friend did in fact look ridiculous. Aside from the…toaster, strangely decorating the left side of his face like that of a cat’s claws clutching to a branch, the left side of his entire body is wrapped sloppily in bandages with blood still staining through them. Not to mention the wheelchair. Tom could swear he’s never seen Edd in a wheelchair, and even if he did…

Okay, he didn’t.

However, the injured man didn’t seem to hear Tom’s call, busy conversing with two tall men in business suits almost as if he was in a panic. Conveniently, most of the people occupying the rest of the hall had left, letting the two housemates hear what their friend is saying.

“You don’t understand! If I don’t get home now they’re going to kill each o—“ Edd paused, waving his right hand frantically, “I MEAN nobody’s going to feed my cat Ringo! I mean come on, who’s going to take care of the poor thing?”

“But sir, what happened to you is pretty serious. You need to stay.“

“No need! I’m going home, please let me through.”

“Sir—“

“Let me explain. Look, officers—“

Tord flinched violently in realization, gripping Tom’s shoulder as he blindly struggles to get back inside. “Shit Tom! They’re cops! Cops!” He shouts quietly, stumbling over himself causing him to fall on his rear. Tom stifled a laugh.

“Pathetic.”

Tord scowled up at him, kicking him in the shin. “Not. Funny. Thomas.”

Tom bent over at the kick, glaring at him when an idea popped into his head, making his glare turn into an awkwardly smug smile. “You wouldn’t mind if I call them over to ask what’s wrong wouldn’t you?”

Tord’s reaction is priceless, his brows meeting as unregistered words start silently spilling out of his mouth. “Tom—you—don’t fucking dare.”

“Oh come on,” Tom slowly stands up, taunting him further, “Edd doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to—“

“ _Tom._ ” Tord stood up with him, his stare and tone turned threatening as Tom refused to stop fucking with him.

“Maybe I should have done this a long time ago.” Tom let the words roll off his tongue as he makes a show of turning around and putting his hand up in the air as if to call them, not expecting to be grabbed by the collar and slammed against the doorframe as Tord brings his face up close to his.

He looks pretty mad alright. Mission accomplished.

Tom braced for a punch, but nothing. Tord’s simply staring him down, not breaking eye contact. Tom would think it means something if it weren’t for the fact that his back’s starting to sting from the initial impact. Still, his eyes once again travel over to Tord’s cheek, his face contorting at the healing skin.

Just…what the fuck is wrong with this guy?

After a few seconds of staring Tom starts feeling uncomfortable(of the situation and the people giving them weird looks), Tord feeling the same way but not quite knowing what to do after his anger has diminished a little. He was about to pull away himself when Tom suddenly pulls his hood over his head, shoving him back into the room. “I wasn’t going to do it anyway, geez.”

Tord just stared up at him as he grips his hood in confusion, Tom holding the doorknob awkwardly as he looked towards Edd, who’s still persistently trying to convince the officers that had their back to them. “I’m gonna go talk to Edd. Watch over Matt.”

“Y-Yeah. Go. Shoo.” Tord used his foot to slam the door shut, effectively hitting Tom in the process making the brit silently wish he’d gone through with getting the bastard arrested.

The action, however, caught Edd’s attention, his free eye uncovered by the toaster spotting Tom right across the hallway. His face(or what was left of it)beamed at the sight of his friend, his uninjured arm quickly waving in his direction. “Officers officers! That guy over there, that’s my friend see? Tom!”

Said officers turn their necks at Tom, eyeing him suspiciously even from a distance. Tom shivered, recalling if he’s ever broken the law(or at least got caught breaking it).

Even so he started walking forward when a blonde nurse suddenly came up from behind Edd, smiling politely at the officers. “Thank you for your patience officers. We’ll be taking him back in now.”

Edd, forgetting Tom for a second, whipped his head around. “H-Hey, you know I don’t really have the money to pay for all this treatment.” He said with the most convincing tone he could muster. “And like I said, I have to go home to my friends…and my cat…and my dog?”

Tom snickered.

“You don’t have to worry about that right now, sir. I’m sure your friends, and your cat, and your dog, will be fine. Right now you’re really not in any shape to go home just yet. Please cooperate with us.”

Edd could feel the color draining from his face at the thought of leaving the three guys alone at home, his mouth starting to stutter as the nurse took hold of the wheelchair. “You’ll have to question him again some other time it seems.” The nurse informs the officers who merely nodded as he started taking Edd back to the ER. Tom stood still, contemplating whether to go after him or not since the nurse does have a point—Edd more than looks like he needs further medical attention…and to get that fucking toaster off his face.

“I—no—will you _please_ listen—TOM!”

“Edd…” Before Tom could react, they’ve already reached the elevator, the doors closing in on Edd’s mortified face.

Tom scratched his head. He’s confused and wants to know damn well what could’ve happened to his friend, but he figured now’s really not the best time to talk to him about it. Maybe tomorrow, but not today it seems. He sighs, deciding to leave Edd’s state to the hospital for now. He pondered over what to do next.

“…now I’m gonna have to tell Tord…”

…fuck Tord.

He’s going to go back to the supermarket and check back on those strings, then maybe go buy a new batch of Smirnoff. He’ll just text him or something since he has his number now and all. Having made up his mind quickly, he starts walking towards the elevator himself whilst taking his phone out when he bumps into a man’s chest. Tom pulled back, face to face with the officers Edd was talking to.

“Hey, we’d like to ask you a few questions.” The officer he bumped into spoke sternly, as if he’d already decided Tom was somehow guilty of something. Tom didn’t flinch, however. He’s not like that coward Tord. “Do you happen to be involved with that kid from earlier?”

The other officer behind him crossed his arms, clearly trying to provoke intimidation. Tom nodded, “Yeah, we live together.”

The man rose a suggestive brow. A vein poked out of Tom’s cheek. “No. Not in that way. There’s four of us. Straight guys. One’s a pussy, but he’s pretty straight too.”

The tall man stared down at him before speaking, “How straight?”

_What the actual f—_

“Straight as a fucking stick, officer.”

“Come on kid, I’m just messing with you.” He chuckled, poking Tom’s forehead. “You’re way too serious.”

Tom’s ticked off expression was unacknowledged as the cop pulled out a notepad from inside his suit, taking down notes and opening his mouth to ask another question(Tom swearing he’ll kick him if he asks something stupid this time), when his subordinate’s phone suddenly starts ringing violently in his pocket. He pulls it out and answers it, “Who’s this…Sir!” He covers the cell with his other hand, “It’s the boss.”

“Officer?” Tom asks, the pervert bastard cop about to continue when he’s suddenly grabbed by the shoulder, his subordinate holding the phone by his ear with a grim look on his face.

“The boss says _he’s_ here.”

Tom stiffened.

“You mean…?” The subordinate nodded, the cop’s face slowly morphing into that of a scary one. He faces Tom, not removing the look in his eye as he waved him off. “Hold on kid.”

Tom uneasily feels like he knows what they’re talking about.

And he’s right, because as the subordinate continued to listen in on whoever was talking on the phone, his gaze eventually shifted to the door across the hall behind him. Matt’s room.

Immediately, they turned and started walking.

Tom didn’t know what possessed him, because one, he’s not drunk enough for this, and two, _seriously_ , he fucking hates the guy, and wishes nothing more than to kick his face, drown him in boiling water, shoot him maybe ten or twenty, fifty, sixty times and hell, maybe even tie him up on a train track and shoot him again—

And yet he’s dialing his number right before they could turn their backs on him.

_“Are you fucking kidding me Jehovah, you’re right across the hall—“_

“Get out.”

 _“Um, what?”_ His stupid voice asks like a stupid fucking idiot.

Tom groaned as he quickly caught up to them, “Get the fuck out of there _right now_.” He demanded, quickly hiding the cell in his pocket before grabbing the two men by the shoulders.

They didn’t seem too happy that he did that.

The one who questioned him looked so pissed Tom could see his veins poking out of his neck. “What do you _think_ you’re doing kid?”

“Uh,” Okay, he didn’t think this through. Think Tom, think. _Aha_!

“A-About my friend Edd, you know, the kid earlier—“

“Not the time kid,” The man cut him off but Tom pushed.

“This is my housemate we are talking about here!” He stomped his foot for effect, immediately regretting the stupid action when it was met with raised brows, “I come across him on a hospital, men. A _hospital_. In bloody clothes and with a toastered face. What do you think I’m thinking?! I’m confused as fuck! And worried, so worried.” Tom clutched at his chest dramatically.

As expected, he saw Tord’s head poke out of the room out of curiosity when his gaze met Tom’s. Tom struggles not to look too obvious that he was looking behind them and continued. “I sure as hell wasn’t expecting you guys to just—just um, start _running off somewhere_ when you should be attending to _me_.”

Tord still looked confused as hell for a moment(like a fucking idiot holy shit Tord) before his eyes widened in realization and nodded, walking out of the door completely and silently closing it behind him.

The subordinate frowned, “Look kid, you may not understand, but this is of greater importance than—“

“Than _what_ , officer?” Tom stepped up to him, eyeing Tord from between his neck as he spoke, “My friend’s life? Were you even paying attention to how injured he is? There’s a fucking toaster stuck to his face, need I remind you? He looks half-dead, quite literally, need I remind you?”

“And need I inform _you_ , that we were the ones that saved him in the first place.” The pervert bastard inserted, sizing Tom up. “He was practically in shambles, broke right through your walls with blood all over him. Isn’t that explanation enough for you?”

“Y-Yeah, t-that..” Tom was starting to lose his composure as the information sunk in, Tord still halfway towards the elevators on the other side of the hallway. It’s a really long fucking hallway, and for some reason really fucking empty now. If Tord runs, he’s dead meat. “That’s great! You’re informing me and all, you should’ve done that in the first place.”

“Later.” The determination in his voice brought Tord to a halt, “We can always do this later kid. You can surely wait, can’t you? Pretty boy with no eyes, you’re interrupting us men at work. See ya.”

Tom didn’t think he’d get anymore pissed at this guy than he already was.

His anger quickly turned to panic when the two men made a move to turn around—Tord’s face panicking, him panicking, the world starting to lose reason and he said the first thing that came to mind as he forcefully grabbed their shoulders again.

“OKAY!”

Holy shit.

“You were right!”

He’s actually doing this.

“He _was_ my boyfriend!” Tom cried out, quickly gaining the two officers’, and Tord’s, attention. “I was just too embarrassed to say it…but now I don’t care! I’m hurting, and you didn’t even give me a chance to see him.” Tom forced himself to choke out a sob. “My Edd! My poor, poor _baby_ Edd!” He let his legs fall to the ground and discretely pinched his side, forcing tears to exit his sockets. “How could you?!”

And as he sat there, on the ground, Tom wanted nothing more than to just shrivel up and die.

“I’m so sorry Edd.” He cried out, genuinely. He’s so going to lock himself up in Matt’s room and nobody but that Tord dick is going to judge him AND HE DOESN’T CARE.

Tom opened his eyes, expecting to see Tord laughing(he can try, but he’d get caught and be dead and this would all be for nothing) or at least a smirk, or cracking even the tiniest amused smile that could still irritate Tom into madness, but he wasn’t. Instead, his face looked blank. Blank and stupid as ever.

Tom…is surprised.

As planned the two officers were knocked off their senses, staring at him in confusion before starting to panic, attempting to console him as they fell to their knees in front of him. “D-Don’t fret kid! We’ll tell you everything you need to know, but first you should know that he’s okay and that he’ll live!” The pervert bastard cooed, his own tears pouring and goodness Tom just couldn’t feel less disgusted by this man. Nevertheless, he pretend-cries into his hands for a few seconds before looking up at them with a pretend-hopeful look.

“Y-You mean it?”

“Yes sir, come, we’ll bring you to a café nearby.” The subordinate says in an easing tone as he brought Tom up, both him and the pervert bastard holding him by the back as they start walking towards the elevators away from Matt’s room. “Your boyfriend will be okay.”

Tom pretend-sniffed, looking behind his shoulder. Tord was already gone.

* * *

 

Tom closed the door to the apartment, leaning against it and letting himself slide down to the floor.

He took a moment to calm his thoughts before reviewing the day. Tom never does this, usually spending his free time drinking or playing his bass other than when Edd and Matt, even Tord, would conjure up some weird situation for all of them to partake in, and just not caring. Today was different. Today was shit, and he felt needed special attention.

Edd and Matt, gone, on the same day.

While what happened to Matt is a mystery that Tom doesn’t really care about, he actually got something out of the two officers about Edd. Simply, Edd was attacked by a toaster early in the morning so hard, he was sent flying. Half his body, nearly disoriented. Although the left side of his body was crucially fucked up, his heart remained untouched. Tom releases a sigh of relief, just as he had back at the café before excusing himself to leave. The two detectives, which Tom learns are Morgan and Eddie(Eddie being the pervert bastard), bid him farewell, Eddie giving him his card in case he needs further information(like he needs any). Speaking of, he should check out the cola storage room later to see the damage.

After he left, he went back to the supermarket as he initially planned. Still no strings. Nearly setting the supermarket on fire was the highlight of his day, or would’ve been. Since it never happened, buying his new batch of Smirnoff immediately took its place. He grins down at the full plastic bag beside him, shaking it to hear the bottles clink. Yep, he’s so gonna get shitfaced.

Tom was about to stand up when he heard footsteps coming from his room. Their room. Whatever.

Tord steps into the hall, and their eyes meet. He’s still wearing his hoodie, and those weird black gloves. Not that Tom’s concerned, but those gloves have been bothering him just as much as his face. Also the fact that he never takes off both his hoodie and gloves in front of them, and since they share a room that’s pretty much saying something. If Tom pretended that he never saw Tord entering their bathroom and hear the water running, it’d be like he never took them off at all.

He’s definitely hiding something. The evil little shit. That he saved. WHATEVER.

“Lame…” Tom muttered under his breath as he broke eye contact, grabbing one of the bottles from the bag and taking a large gulp.

He sighed in content, burping a little, looking up to see that Tord was still staring at him.

“What?”

Tord seemed to hesitate before asking, “Are you and Edd dating?”

“Fuck no.” Tom answers instantly, “No offense to Edd, but I like my friends like I like my whiskey.”

“Let me guess, straight.”

“Why are we talking about this?” the brit asks no one in particular, taking a large sip before replying, “And yes. Straight as a fucking pole.”

Tord leans against their doorway, smirking. “Do you even drink whiskey?”

Tom’s eye twitches, “Maybe I fucking do, damn commie.”

“Pissy Jehovah.”

“Bloody idiot.”

“Bitchy fuckface.”

“Norwegian scum.”

“British scum.”

“Shitfaced dumbass.”

“Oh, so I’m shitfaced?”

“Shut up.”

There it is. That shit-eating grin Tom had expected to see earlier. And it just dawned on Tom that he’s going to be alone with this guy for who knows how fucking long.

Something’s definitely bound to happen, and he is not looking forward to it. With that, he once again drowns his loins with alcohol, and wonders if he’ll wait till Tord leaves before he stands up again.

“…you’re such an idiot.”

Tom nearly choked, “You little—!”

“But…I owe you one.” Tord said in no more than a whisper, but with their home so empty, with just the two of them breathing, Tom heard every word of it.

“…huh, yeah, sure. Serves you right.” Tom tried laughing away the fact that he was caught off guard, pointing a bottle at the Norwegian. “How about this—get the fuck out of my life. Can you handle that?”

“Nah. Too easy.” Tom scoffed sarcastically. “So where are you sleeping?”

“…Matt’s.”

“How about we switch every night?”

“…alright.”

Tord nods, disappearing into their room and closing the door behind him. Tom stood up as soon as he was gone, making a beeline for Matt’s room, Matt’s bed, crashed and slept because he honestly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im actually pretty happy with how this turned out. good job me. *pat pat* let me know what you think? i'd appreciate it :)  
> thanks for the kudos! you're all awesome like wow.


	4. Suspicions. Suspicions everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is important(even tho Tord's not in it)but it's also really freakin ugly cause i cant write without boring myself to death ;_;  
> also this is 45% Ringo. and Tom really question things a lot. and this story is really freakin slow but things will probably pick up starting next chapter. mehue

Second to Tord, Ringo is absolutely, undoubtedly, the most annoying being on the entire planet.

The feline somehow discovered the gap between Tom’s shirt and stomach(which Tom was too lazy to fix despite how breezy it felt) and crawled inside, curling up against Tom’s chest. The action woke Tom up with a mere groan, not in the mood to deal with the clingy ball of fur inside his shirt.

It’s not the first time she’s done this. Most days Ringo would be minding her own business if not staying by Edd’s side, but on some nights or even days(as long as he was sleeping), she would wake Tom from his slumber to find her once again tucked inside his shirt. Like he was her very own personal vacation home. It got him to the point where he started sleeping in his underwear until Tord came back to share a room with him and he started wearing clothes to bed again.

The cat purred, Tom sighing in defeat when her head poked out of his collar and nested under his chin.

The brit’s eyes travelled over to Matt’s nightstand expecting to see a clock of some sort, instead meeting face to face with yet again another obnoxious self-portrait smiling back at him. Tom scrunched up his nose in annoyance at the thought of Matt actually wanting to wake up to this every morning. Deciding to ignore it he scans the room with the help of Matt’s purple nightlight, eventually settling on a clock in the middle of a thousand more self-portraits of his housemate.

6:45AM. Tom made another look of disappointment. He expected to wake up early since he practically slept at like, six in the afternoon. But not this early, not when he’s drank at least a half bottle of Smirnoff. It’s just about an hour later than he’d woken up yesterday, making him groan at the thought of waking up early two days in a row.

“Damn you Ringo…”

The cat only meowed in response.

“I’m not giving you the pleasure of sleeping today, thank you very much.” Tom held Ringo, still inside his shirt, as he sat up and got off the bed. He looks down at the bottles of Smirnoff that somehow crawled their way out of the bag and are now spread out across Matt’s bed, letting out a tired breath. “Guess I’m starting the day early again…”

Nothing like a fresh start to a new day of doing nothing interesting.

With one hand taking full duty of holding Ringo, Tom starts collecting the bottles and putting them back in the bag with the other. The feline in his shirt didn’t move much, which made the action a whole lot easier. As cranky as he could get, Ringo’s still not one to mess with.

After finishing up, Tom walks groggily over to the doorway of Matt’s room and flicks up the light switch with his nose, revealing that the bedroom door was still slightly open (that explains a lot, actually).  Using his foot to open it further, Tom walks out and is immediately bombarded with sunlight streaming in from the window down their hallway. He nearly drops Ringo, blinded. “Son of a bitch…”

He couldn’t be less glad that he doesn’t seem to be having a hangover. Mornings are bad enough, even more so when the two join forces to ruin Tom’s life.

Tom blinks away the flashing images of blindness when he notices that his(their) room door was open, wide enough to reveal that Tord wasn’t home. He poked his head inside, the water doesn’t seem to be running in the bathroom either. Tom let out a breath of relief—at least the king of shit shitty shittyness isn’t around to bother him, the thought followed by a sense of confusion. Where would Tord be this early in the morning? Not that he cares…but it bothers him a little. Who knows what on earth that guy’s up to, Tom subconsciously looking around their(his) room to make sure nothing was out of place.

The events of the day before suddenly flashed through Tom’s head, another groan emitting from the brit’s throat.

_“…I owe you one.”_

“Damn right he does…” Tom mutters crankily as he shifts Ringo’s position with one arm. He’d expected as much, and definitely would have demanded that he did otherwise. Still, something felt strange…no, _weird_ about hearing the words from Tord himself, Tom a tad bit too uncomfortable at the thought to think up an explanation.

Wait. Why is he uncomfortable exactly?

He shook his head, “He owes me and that’s it. What the fuck am I thinking so hard about this early in the morning, right Ringo?”

Ringo meows. Tom nods as if he understood what she was saying. Not like Tord’s around to make fun of him for it.

The doorbell rings.

Tom faces the front door curiously, pulling Ringo out of his shirt and setting her down on the floor before hesitantly tip-toeing towards it. The possibility of the person being Tord made Tom pause in turning the knob, yelling out, “Who is it?”

When a different voice answers Tom sighs in disappointment, “It’s the repairman.” Too bad, he was entertaining the idea of locking him out.

“Uh, hello? Can you hear me?”

“Shit, sorry.” Tom swings the door open to a blonde man in repairman uniform…slowly looking down so his dark eyes could meet blue ones looking back up at him. “Oh…”

“I know. I’m short.” The man shrugs with a smile on his face, “Pretty used to it!”

“Yeah…sorry about that. I was expecting someone else.” Tom blinks down at him, not really used to people being shorter than him. As unfair as it is, he _is_ the shortest of his fellow housemates, including Tord. “You are?”

“Repairman, sir.” He chirps, tilting his head to the side like an anime girl does when she’s—HOW DOES HE KNOW ABOUT THIS. “I already told you that before you opened the door?” His eyebrows knit as if to look curious, a finger poked up against his cheek.

The action creeps Tom out.

Something’s up with him, Tom decides. He looks awfully casual and has an unpleasant aura about him when he speaks despite the cheery attitude. It’s a bit unsettling. Not that he’s one to talk, but still. Does he know him from somewhere? “Um, right. Sorry, come in then.”

Tom steps aside to allow the strange guy to pass, closing the door behind him after he walks in. The repairman takes a few steps forward (is he skipping?) before abruptly stopping, looking back to Tom. “Where’s the damage?”

“Oh yeah! It’s at that room over there I’m guessing.” Though Tom points in the direction of the cola room,  the repairman’s still looking at him as if he grew two heads. Tom laughs nervously, “Actually I haven’t seen what happened to it…yet. I had a long day yesterday and just went straight to bed after I got home.”

“That’s okay! Rough days aren’t uncommon, I get what you’re saying buddy.” The short man pats Tom’s shoulder before posing a thumbs up. “Just hope I could help ya the best I can—ooh! You have a cat.” He stares dumbfounded as the guy bends down to try and coo Ringo into nearing him, the feline hiding behind Tom’s legs hissing. “Here kitty kitty!”

…Is this seriously the guy the landlord sent them?

Tom clears his throat, taking back his attention. “You’re here pretty early.”

“Oh yes!  I thought I’d get started as soon as I could.” He says, raising the unusually large toolbox he was carrying. “Care to show me where I could put this down?”

Tom nods reluctantly, walking towards the storage room with the strange man following behind, remembering that he’s still holding a full bag of Smirnoff. Might as well put them in the fridge while he’s at it—the brit abruptly stops behind the door, hearing something crack beneath his sneakers. He lifts it to reveal small pieces of glass, some sticking to his shoe.

He hears the guy commenting about how that was dangerous when he opens the door, mouth gaping. Eddie certainly wasn’t kidding about the mess.

The only true broken things to note are the holes on the window and on the wall opposite of it, an Edd-shaped hole to be exact. But what truly makes the room a mess are the glass shards that are literally everywhere(since Matt thought it was a good idea to have double windows), the table where they eat is flipped over, Ringo’s bowl is in shambles underneath it, and dust is practically floating in the air due to the broken cement.

“How is a freaking toaster able to do all…this?”

“You tell me. Seemed like a hard hit.” The repairman says as if he’s not the least bit surprised at the scene in front of him, Tom wondering why the hell that is. The room looks like a crime scene!

He must’ve read the look on Tom’s face, waving his hand, “It’s my job! I’m pretty used to shit looking like this. Like, all the freaking time dude.”

Tom takes a step inside, patting himself on the back inwardly for keeping his sneakers on as the glass clinks against each other underneath, “Okay, so, come in?” He offered the short man and goes for the fridge, eyes lingering on the hole that’s giving a decent view of Edd’s bed, when he notices a note under one of Matt’s fridge magnets.

_Out 2 work. Cleaned blood. No more cereal, so go buy some._

_-Tord_

Wow.

“Pft, notes. Who does he think he is?” Tom mutters under his breath as he takes and crumples the piece of paper in his hand, opening the fridge to put his Smirnoff inside. “I owe you my fucking ass.”

He grabs one of the bottles, shutting the fridge door and turning to face the repairman who’s setting his toolbox down on the counter, then at the mess of a room. No sight of the blood Eddie described. So Tord cleaned up the blood, probably feeling like he’s done something responsible and shit, but didn’t bother to clean up everything else. Tom scoffed, bringing his flask out to refill it. “What an idiot.”

“Who’s an idiot?”

“Scumbag named Tord. He lives here.” He shakes the flask a little to check if it’s full. Nothing spills out, so not yet apparently.

From the corner of his eyes, Tom could see the man’s eyes literally sparkle with interest, “So one of your friends then?”

“Not my friend.”

“Hm, and you live together?” Tom doesn’t know if he’s the one who’s a little out of it, or this repairman fellow’s starting to sound a little more like Eddie. Either way he doesn’t care, the flask is finally full so he pretends he’s focused on that. “He the one that went through that wall over there?”

“Nope. I wish he was though.” Speaking of the one who went through the wall, Tom should probably go check on him, and Matt. Great, that gives him something to do. He puts what’s left of the bottle back in the fridge and finds the sticky notes Tord used on top of the fridge along with a pen, taking it. “Do you need me here to get started or…?”

The man looks down at the box, then back at Tom. “Not at the moment nope.”

“Okay, cause I’m gonna go check on my friend for a bit. Just remember to lock the door if you’re out before I, or Tord, could come back. Here’s my number.” Tom finishes writing down his digits and removes the note he wrote on from the rest, handing it to…right. “Name’s Tom by the way. Yours?”

“It’s Yuu!”

“Sorry, me?”

“No dude, Yuu. Like Y-U-U. Oh, but don’t wory about it. I get that a lot!”

Why does Tom keep meeting weird people these days.

“Alright then Yuu, I leave the place to you…like you I mean—you get it.” Yuu snickers, taking the paper from Tom’s outstretched hand. The brit still has a few questions in his head to ask the short repairman but chooses not to, excusing himself with a nod before leaving the room.

After putting his hoodie on and locking all three of their bedroom doors with his keys, Tom realizes he’s not all that comfortable leaving the apartment to Yuu. The man hasn’t said anything that’s necessarily alarming, but he senses the same tone of speaking Tord has whenever he talks to him—sarcasm and disdain hiding behind his words. Or maybe Yuu’s just a weirdo that happens to be a repairman that talks to people like he hates them behind an awfully cheery facade…which is the same thing…Tom feels stupid.

Or maybe, the guy’s just kind, no matter how suspicious it makes him look. Tom sighs.

He _does_ get the feeling he’s met him somewhere before though, a very strong one.

Tom opens their apartment door when Ringo walks up behind him meowing, seeing him off like she does to all four of them every so often. He looks down at her and bends over to scratch her ear, whispering “Keep an eye on him will you?” before standing up and shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 

Two very stupid things slapped Tom on the face this fine morning. Real hard.

The very first slap came as soon as he stepped out of the apartment building when his stomach practically woke up the entire neighborhood.

He was very, incredibly, _really_ fucking hungry, considering the fact that he forgot to eat dinner, and ended up buying more cereal boxes than he intended. Edd’s the only person that knew how to cook anyway, so he figured fourteen boxes were an acceptable amount, as well as five milk cartons, and also a bunch of tasty looking potatoes that he has no idea why he bought or what on earth to do with.

After that, he went to go visit Edd, transitioning into the next painfully hard and literal second slap of the face.

He tries to ignore the sting on his cheek, grinning apologetically at the scowling injured man in front of him.

“Uh, nice to see you’re doing well Edd.”

 Another slap. “Don’t give me that crap!”

Matt coughs out what sounds like a laugh a few feet beside Edd’s bed, still a big bloated lump. Coincidentally, the two were put together as roommates, making Tom’s life so much easier (and is admittedly relieved because he forgot about Matt for a moment). “You two look ridiculous!”

“Like you have any right to say that.” Tom shoots back at the ginger(the latter shutting up quickly)before getting slapped again, unexpectedly so that he dropped the bags he was holding to rub his cheeks. He takes a few steps back.

“Edd, buddy, that’s starting to really fucking hurt.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you left me yesterday!” Edd yells in Tom’s face, the action putting strain on his aching muscles making him grimace. Edd does look better than he did the day before, only that it seems to disturb Tom a little more looking at the extra batch of bandages generally wrapped around his head, torso, and left leg—like a half mummy, although what truly stands out is the large bulge still on the left side of Edd’s face.

“How the hell are you even talking with that thing on your—“

“SsjjshdjskjshdSHH it. Shush. Not another word about this thing, got it?”

“Edd, listen to me. If you only knew how much crap I had to go through yesterday—“

“I SAID SHUSH.” Edd demands, successfully shutting the brit up. He huffs and lays back, the head of the bed elevated high enough to accommodate him sitting half-up but still laying down. His free hand comes up to his forehead, presumably where his temples are before looking at Tom again. “Tom. Please. Get me home.”

“I can’t do that Edd,” Tom states bluntly, sitting down next to Edd’s bed. The latter swats at him, barely missing. “At least not until you’re fully recovered.”

“I am recovered!”

“Sure you are.”

Edd groans in frustration and faces the other way to Matt. Tom watches them communicate with their eyes, Matt showing his displeasure of the situation as well but shrugging nonetheless, Edd responding to the action with a relaxed sigh. He didn’t know Matt could do that—make someone relax without words. He’s always been doing it the other way around.

Tom didn’t notice the silence in the room until his stomach decides to make its presence known, quickly grabbing at one of the bags and ripping open one of the cereal boxes. Edd stares indignantly at Tom as the brit floods his mouth with the crunchy goodness before speaking, “Did you guys break…anything?”

Chewing through words Tom replies, “Erm, no.”

“Bullshit!” Edd waves his right hand around again, being the only body part he could actually move, “I know how you two are, so don’t even think you can fool me that easily Thomas! If you two do anything stupid I _will_ find out and I swear to whatever the fuck if I do I oughta—“

“Erdd. Relarx wirr you?” Tom forces himself to swallow down the remaining bits so he could speak, “Nothing happened.”

“—roll the both of you over with a tank and shove your faces in…wait, what?” Edd’s eye blinks at him when his rant cuts off, Matt slowly processing and looking at Tom in confusion himself.

Silence again, then Tom sighs, “We didn’t fight.” _Not yet anyway_ , Tom adds in his head. “The only things broken at the moment are the ones you crashed into, so chill.”

“Chill? _Chill_? You just told me that you went through an entire day without ensuing a single fight with Tord and you expect me to freaking chill?” Edd’s really making use of his right hand, waving and gesturing to emphasize his point. “What exactly happened? Hm?”

“Well, for one, you two got fucked up bad.”

The two patients glare at him.

“And uh, Tord was already with Matt so he called me over and we both waited for a doctor…which never came.”

“Actually he did come but you two already left.” Matt intercepts as his bloated hand reaches for something beside him, showing it to Tom. “You left this yesterday.”

“Cool. Toss it over.”

“Are you crazy?” Matt points to himself.

Tom walks over to Matt’s bed, Edd tapping his fingers impatiently as the brit takes the box and goes back to his seat, “Thanks. What did the doctor say?”

“Weeell—“

“NO. Later. Continue.” Edd waves his hand again, dismissing Matt.

“Okay um,” Tom pauses when he realizes the events that comes after, empty eyes widening at Edd who notices the change in demeanor. He slams his hand against the bed’s side rails.

“Aha!” He points. “So something _did_ happen—!“

“No no no no nothing happened! Nothing I swear.” This time it’s Tom who waves his hands frantically. “Believe me Edd, nothing really did happen. Nothing.”

Nothing except he acted as his pretend-boyfriend to save Tord’s ass, but Edd really doesn’t need to know that.

“We just—actually I talked with the officers who you were yelling at yesterday, and bought stuff, went home and then slept in Matt’s room. Me and Tord had a…compromise to switch rooms every night. That’s all . That’s all that actually…happened.”

After speaking Tom realizes he’s been looking down at the floor and looks back up at Edd, who looks more shocked than he has ever seen him be, right hand behaved by his side. Matt’s the same, except one of his hands are covering his mouth.

Tom couldn’t really blame them. He fucking hates Tord, and _he_ hates Tom, considering how awful and destructive their fights could get, Tom feels just as…surprised as they probably are.

_“I owe you one.”_

Really fucking surprised.

As the information seeps in into the two, Matt shrieks.

“You slept in _my_ room?!”

Tom blinked. “Uh, yeah—“

“And you guys are planning to _switch_?!”

_Seriously Matt?_ “Deal with it.”

“You _monster_. What have you done to my babies?!” Matt points an accusing finger, Tom’s eye twitching at his housemate’s stupid outburst. Edd’s still staring shocked into space. “You didn’t even ask for permission, you fiend! Scoundrel!” The ginger shouts before subjecting into a coughing fit.

“ _Nothing happened to your babies Matt_ —you know what, you guys are ridiculous.” Tom stands up, filling his mouth with cereal and throwing the box back inside the bags before picking them up. He stands up and walks towards the room door. It’s only been five minutes and he’s already leaving. Not like he needs to stay here any longer anyway. “Im goirng horm.”

Edd snaps out of his reverie just as the brit is about to leave, quickly saying “Come back tomorrow Tom. Please.”

Tom looks back at Edd. Although his right eye’s the only visible feature of his face, the worry and concern still doesn’t fail to shine through it. Sometimes he really does act like the endlessly nagging mother. On the other hand, Matt still looks angry, crossing his fat arms, but nodding in agreement anyway. He couldn’t help but sigh inwardly at his friends.

“Gert werr soon you idiorts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter so much but still hope you enjoyed it. leave a comment cause i cant point out what's trash or what's not lmao  
> thanks for reading :)


	5. Not A Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was hell to write. and so are the next chapters.  
> the italics are strong in this one.  
> also tom's mad or pissed like 99% of the time so i apologize for his(and tord's) repetitive cussing lmao  
> this gets cute to upsetting really fast so, yep :P get on reading now

Yuu texted a disturbingly long message as soon as Tom left the hospital.

Turns out he left pretty much ten minutes right after Tom did. He explained that he was called back for some business that Tom merely scanned through because he didn’t really care(and he wrote way too much about it), and caught something at the end about having cleaned up the rest of the mess anyway and also that Tom needs to buy a new window set before he can really get started.

He made it clear by the end that he was coming back in a week at most, which is weird. He also mentions a few more useless things that maybe Tom would have bothered to read if Yuu didn’t shamelessly abuse the use of emoticons.

For the most part, he was glad that Yuu cleaned up at least, having planned(begrudgingly) earlier that he was gonna do it himself(since he was pretty sure Tord would say some stupid shit like “I already did my part” or something)

This cleaned Tom’s first impression of the guy a little…just a little. He still doesn’t trust him, not one bit. In fact the whole message only makes the guy a whole lot more suspicious than he already seems.

Or Tom’s just an asshole, which is plausible.

Putting his phone back in his pocket, Tom’s mind is naturally brought back to his present situation. He’s currently standing in front of the apartment building, and although it’s not really a new occurrence, something just irks him about the fact that he’s not really quite sure what to…do.

Not about whether to go inside or not(maybe something like that), but more what he’s supposed to do once he’s gotten back to the apartment, which is practically…nothing.

He did another recap of his thoughts, as he was previously doing before he received Yuu’s text message. He knew he wasn’t gonna be doing anything interesting, thus not exactly planning to do anything either. Edd and Matt aren’t around, so that kills pretty much seventy percent of his daily to-do list which includes doing some crazy shit or just simply watching a stupid movie together, and it’s painfully obvious that both wouldn’t work out with just him and Tord…

Tom pondered over it for a second.

…definitely not. Fuck Tord.

Back to his options, the rest of the thirty percent is…“Tom” stuff—playing bass and drinking. Well, he obviously couldn’t play with Susan, which reminds him of how much it fucking pisses him off. Even though it’s pretty much his fault for pulling at her previous strings too hard that all of them just died in  four consecutive snaps, buying new strings wasn’t supposed to be a fucking issue. And it’s seriously fucking stupid that the fucking stocks still haven’t fucking arrived because for some fucking reason—

Tom forcefully stops his train of thought with a deep, shuddered breath. This is exactly why he refused Edd’s idea for a swear jar.

He waits till the anger has subsided to come down to his last option, which is drinking.

Tom glanced over the time on his phone. Drinking at midday? Not a problem. Does he feel like it? Strangely, no, not really. Not at the moment at least.

He could do it, he has the time and energy, but not the interest to ‘just’ drink. He already drinks all the damn time—what he wants(needs) is an activity. Something to fucking do. Which, once again, he’s concluded is nothing. Including now, where he’s just standing in front of the apartment building like a weirdo.

And he just realized that he’s not even adding anything to help with his predicament.

Tom drags his hand across his face. How is this even a problem? Oh yeah, being practically attached by the hip to your friends can do that to you, and just make you feel like you can’t even do anything significantly fun without them around. The realization makes him wonder what he would have been doing if he successfully moved out on his own and didn’t find a wanted poster of Tord and he didn’t turn out to be an evil fucking bastard—

“Jehovah, are you getting in or not?”

Tom’s head whipped to his side. Speak of the literal fucking devil.

“What’s it to you commie?”

The Norwegian yawns, hands stuffed in his pockets as he lazily walks to stand beside Tom. His eyes fall down to the plastic bags at Tom’s feet, making him smirk and the brit rolls his eyes. “Well, you’ve been creepily standing there for twenty minutes like you’re about to do a mass shooting.”

“That’s incredibly fucking morbid dude.” Tord shrugs. Tom guesses he shouldn’t even be surprised, because as it turned out, Tord _is_ an evil fucking bastard. How was he forgiven again? Right. His friends are stupid. “And also, you’re the creep here.”

“Really?” That amused smile again. “Enlighten me.”

“How would you know I’ve been here for twenty minutes if you weren’t around to watch me?”

Tord cups a hand around his chin, Tom frowning at the glove covering it. “For starters, I just got here. And I’m too good looking to be a creep.”

“What does that say about me then?”

“That you’re ugly, idiot.”

Tom holds in a breath threatening to seethe through his teeth. “Fuck you.”

“Suit yourself.”

The conversation comes to a stop, an uncomfortable silence filling the empty space between them, the two hearing nothing but wind and an ambulance echoing in the distance. They both just stood, hands in their hood’s pockets and staring at the building in front of them.

At least, that’s what Tom thinks they’re doing.

Tom’s fists open and close by his sides, trying to hide his fidgeting from the norski. He wasn’t really sure how it happened, but it suddenly just turned really fucking awkward for some reason. He clears his throat, thinking of something to say. “Uh, aren’t _you_ getting in?”

When the brit didn’t hear a response he faced Tord again, seeing sweat visibly fall down the side of his face. Tom rose a brow. “Well?”

“Um, I’m waiting for you.”

Tom sneers in disgust. “So full of shit.”

“I am!” When Tom only deepens his disgusted face, Tord groans. “I’m literally still here. Clearly, I am waiting for something. That something’s you.”

Tom’s still unconvinced.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I just don’t.” Tom states bluntly, Tord squinting his eyes in disbelief. “FYI, you just called me a creep—and why in the name of tarantulas would you be waiting for me?”

The norsk doesn’t reply, instead pulling his lips into a thin line and looking anywhere but at the brit. This pisses Tom off, but he sighs and doesn’t prod any further. The stupidity’s not fucking worth it.

On the bright side, now they’re _two_ guys standing in front of an apartment building doing nothing like weirdoes.

Silence again.

…it feels weirder than before. Tom doesn’t like it.

“Goddamn it.” Tom cusses before finally grabbing at the bags and taking a step forward, Tord smirking as he follows behind the frustrated brit roughly pushing past the building’s front doors like it owes him money. Tom mutters incoherent words under his breath, cursing Tord to oblivion endlessly as if the man wasn’t watching in amusement right behind him.

They pass by a surprisingly fair amount of people for a Monday, since everyone in the building would usually be gone by now. An old man in particular catches the two men making their way towards the elevator, cupping his hands around his mouth and yells. “Out of order!”

Tord heard the call almost immediately even amidst the bustling noises of the lobby(he could hear a pin drop even in the middle of the battlefield) and nods at the man, but looks to Tom who apparently was too annoyed to listen. The brit shamelessly shoves past people, stomps up to the elevator doors and keeps pushing the button repeatedly, refusing to look at the communist behind him. As soon as he felt he abused the button enough times, Tom steps back and taps his foot impatiently.

The norsk  hesitates before tapping a finger on Tom’s shoulder. “ Uh, Thomas—“

Said man shoves his finger off. “Not a word.”

“But—“

“Leave me. In peace.” Tom emphasizes with a glare, then resumes to wait for nothing. Tord would have probably found it funny if it weren’t for the fact that he was itching to get home. He sighs and looks around for the same old man, whistling and calling him over.

The old man however didn’t seem to understand from across the lobby, instead yelling “Out of order!” again, then resuming to talk to his companion. Tord looks at Tom—still didn’t hear him. He’s seriously that mad that he’s closing off his ears from communication entirely?

“Dude, it’s—“

“Would you shut up for like ten fucking minutes till we get back home? Jesus.” Tom snaps at him, foot still tapping. Tord is starting to get annoyed of this and scratches his head before an idea popped into his head, heading for the old man.

Tom stares intently at the bar on top of the elevator indicating what floor it’s on. Twenty. Who the hell is holding up the goddamn elevator at floor twenty and making him stick any longer with this asshole…who’s strangely quiet for some rea—

“OUT OF ORDER!!”

The brit immediately falls over on his side and rolls on the floor, dropping the bags as his hands zoom up to his right ear. He looks up to find an old man with hands cupped around his mouth, and Tord clutching his stomach and laughing his ass off like a fucking asshole.

“What in the actual mother of fucks is fucking wrong with you?!” Tom screams, the ringing in his ear not getting any smaller and not caring at all about the stares being thrown at him.

Tord doesn’t respond, instead laughing even harder than before, the old man who yelled at him shrugging and pointing at the Norwegian. Tom takes off his shoe and makes a threatening gesture to throw it at him, making the old man scurry off without a drop of hesitance. He does the same to the people spectating and they disperse almost immediately. This makes Tord get fully into hysterics, starting to struggle for breath.

“You. Are. A. Sick. Human being.” Tom spat at him as he stood up, scowling with one hand still holding his ear and the other putting his shoe back on. He doesn’t bother to spare the laughing man a glance as he turns to walk towards the emergency exit. Tord coughs up the last of his laughs, catching up to him.

“Wait up, Jehovah!” Tord calls up to Tom, who already climbed halfway past the first flight of stairs. “I’m sorry alright? I had to do it!”

“No you didn’t you prick!” Tom yells back, feet refusing to slow down as he tries to climb up faster. He’s not gonna last long considering how low his freaking endurance is(their apartment’s on the fifteenth fucking floor) and with how much stuff he was carrying, but he’d rather jump off a cliff than let this bastard catch up to him. “That was absolutely unnecessary!”

“You were insisting on waiting for nothing!” Tom nearly tripped, “What was I supposed to do?!”

“ _Not_ obliterate my fucking eardrums!” He exclaims down at him, flipping both middle fingers up without letting go of the bags before resuming his climb, Tord sighing as he watches the brit above him and following not far behind him. Two people a few flights above them entered the space and were chattering as they climbed down towards them, so they both remained quiet(much to Tom’s liking) as they continued climbing up with the two girls’ voices echoing pretty much everywhere.

They were at least three flights of stairs up when Tom’s legs gave out, the brit’s pace slowing down until he could no longer take it anymore and sat at the top of the stairs. He was breathing heavily, his hand on the railing and one hand leaving his ear to clutch his chest.

Tord caught up to him easily(obviously), looking completely unaffected as he stood next to the panting jehovah’s witness(which, though struggling to catch his breath, still manages to piss him off entirely). “We’re not even halfway there, fuckface.”

“I know.” Tom knows, shooting him a ‘I-fucking-know’ look, which Tord didn’t understand but ignored anyway. “Why don’t you just go ahead so I don’t have to see your stupid face.”

Tord ignores that too, for some reason. Tom really doesn’t understand why he seems so persistent in following him. “Anyway…you need any help?”

Tom shakes his head fervently. He doesn’t need help, especially his—though he makes a shocked expression when Tord grabs him by the arm and hoists him up anyway, walking in front of him and kneeling.

When Tord doesn’t hear any movement from the other guy, he turns around to look up at Tom’s confused face.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“…offering you a ride.”

Tom blinks.

He brings both hands up to his face, rubbing furiously.

Opens his eyes.

Tord’s still waiting.

“…what the fuck.”

Tord’s face contorts more and more into embarrassment the longer Tom just stares at him in disbelief. “Dude—just— I owe you, and you’re clearly not in shape to climb eleven more flights of stairs.” He inhales, looking away but not changing his stance. “Take it. Just fucking take it.”

“…but that’s so fucking gay.”

Tom said it. He actually fucking said it. Why is he making this harder than it already is.

Tord huffs and makes a move to stand up. “If it’s so gay then I’ll just take back my favor then—“

“OKAY OKAY FUCKING—Okay, I fucking get it. Just…wait,” Tord nods, and resumes to wait. Tom takes a really, really deep breath and, unsure of what exactly to do, slowly bends down until his chest is touching the norsk’s back.

And he freezes.

Because just holy shit what the actual fuck is happening here.

When Tom makes no further indication of moving, Tord sighs again, bringing his arms up, “Give me your hands.”

Tom obliges, and Tord wraps his arms around his neck which forcefully brings Tom painfully closer to the back of Tord’s neck making him hold his breath, black eyes widen and jesus he probably looks like a complete fucking idiot. The norsk suddenly stands up though, shocking Tom and nearly giving him a heart attack making him tighten his arms around Tord’s neck and swinging his legs to wrap around his waist. “Holy bug in a fucking pizza box Tord WE’RE ON TOP OF FUCKING STAIRS.”

“I should be telling you that you idiot! Calm down.” Tord nearly fell over at the action, but thankfully held into a railing just in time before they could fall to their deaths. He stands upright, then awkwardly looks down at Tom’s legs, the brit turning beet red when he realized what he was looking at. “Uh, Tom.”

“Shut up and get moving already you bloody communist.” Tom mutters and chooses to hide his face unto Tord’s hood, almost as if chanting a curse. Tord rolls his eyes, taking hold of Tom’s bags and hoisting them up before starting to climb up again.

He could feel Tom shuddering every time he goes one step up, making him snicker and the brit whack the back of his head every time. They were quiet though, which once again relaxes Tom a little.

Though he’d rather die than ever tell Edd and Matt about this.

A few flight of stairs up and they come across the two girls who stare at them as they passed by, one of them whispering something like “that’s so cute!” which makes Tom want to vomit right on the spot. Immense, intense, incredibly-buried-deep-into-embarassment vomiting.

“That was gross.” Tord spoke up when they were one flight of stairs apart, Tom nodding in agreement though Tord couldn’t see it.

“How do you think I feel?”

The Norwegian snorts. “I don’t care.”

Tom shamelessly whacks the back of his head again, though he silently commends the guy for being able to climb up stairs while carrying his fat ass this far.

“You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but your thoughts are always so loud.”

Tom doesn’t reply to that, and Tord continues to climb up the rest of the stairs.

One unholy fact about Tord Tom somehow got from this godforsaken experience—he smells…smokey.  Whenever his hair sways with each step he takes, the smell hits Tom almost immediately, like an invisible whirlwind storming up his senses. Definitely smokey. The best way he can describe it, if it’s even a word. Like a mixture of burnt cigarettes and an overwhelming scent of cinnamon. Yes, fucking cinnamon. Tom decides not to question it(and the fact that jesus christ, he’s actually smelling Tord. It’s undoubtedly the most unholy thing he’s ever done.)

The brit quickly gets off Tord as if the guy was on fire(pun not intended) as soon as they got on the fourteenth floor and entered through the emergency exit door, patting imaginary dust off himself and taking the bags from him. His eyes avoid meeting the other man’s who’s doing the same thing.

He clears his throat awkwardly, then looks around. They were at the hall where their apartment is, which is wonderfully convenient.

“Ladies first.”

Tord looks confused for a moment, then points to himself, “Sorry, me?”

“No dipshit, your mother.” The norsk laughs.

“That’s so lame.”

“You’re lame.” Tom pauses, then adds, “And weird.”

“How am I weird?”

Tom thinks over his choice of words for a second before speaking, “Because you just gave me a fucking piggyback ride and wouldn’t move till I move. Like you like me or some shit.”

“That’s gross, Jehovah.”

“I know.”

Tord sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, just to inform you why I’m following you around…”

“Yeah?”

“…I forgot my keys.”

This time, it was Tom’s turn to laugh hysterically.

“Haha, as if you’ve never done it before.” Tom is still laughing, which makes Tord pout a little. Okay he was being a jerk to him earlier as well, but this is bullshit. “Seriously, stop it.”

Tom wipes a tear that came out of his eye and calms down, letting out a few more chuckles before sighing. He looks at Tord, “Agree to keep this entire thing a secret from Edd and Matt, and I won’t tell a soul.” Tom compromises, offering a handshake.

Tord takes it. “Agreed.”

The brit chuckles and then realizes just how gay that chuckle was, instantly pulling his hand back and coughing. “Uh yeah. Anyway, you’re still a dick.” The norsk shakes his head, an amused smile once again dancing on his lips.

A phone starts ringing, and Tom nearly thought it was his until he realized the only actual person who called him is right in front of him. Tord’s hand instantly goes down to his pockets, rummaging through them and hand pulling out with what was indeed a ringing phone.

Tom catches a glimpse of the contact ID. ‘Eyebrows’. Who the hell would Tord call eyebrows?

The brit doesn’t exactly know why there’s a sudden churn in his stomach when Tord answers the call as soon as he sees the caller’s name, face turning dark and shoulders tensing. Tom frowns, shaking his head and excusing himself from the norsk. The latter grabs him by the shoulder however, gesturing him to wait as he brings the phone up to his ear.

“компаньон?” Tord starts with a word that sounds awfully close to companion. Tom is a bit ticked off though, he doesn’t need to stand around for this(the guy’s not even speaking English) and once again tries to leave, the norsk once again holding him back. Tom can slightly hear the guy on the phone giving a reply, Tord’s frown deepening at whatever he said. He stays quiet for a moment, then sighs, “Что же он хочет?”

It didn’t really occur to Tom that he isn’t properly processing what is happening until his eyes lock on to the scar on Tord’s face again, then to the phone.

Then it clicks.

Tord was mumbling a response when there’s suddenly nothing in his hand, his phone flying across the air and crashing into the carpeted flooring. He blinks in surprise before looking at Tom.

“What…the hell was that for?” The norsk asks.

The guy doesn’t have eyes, but this is definitely a looks could kill situation at every angle.

They stare at each other, Tord wondering what the hell just happened while Tom’s just shooting daggers at him with his angered expression, silence once again dominating between the two.

It wasn’t until Tom picked up the plastic bags and started storming down the hall when Tord gets snapped back into reality, picking up his (thankfully) undamaged phone and going after the brit. “Jehovah, what’s wrong with you?!”

Tom ignores him, feet stomping like he did back at the stairs. His hands were swinging furiously in sync with his walk, the other man actually having a hard time speed-walking up to him. Tord continues to call out until they finally reached the door and Tom struggles with putting the keys in the knob, the norsk taking the opportunity to talk. “Hey—!”

The brit slams the door with his other hand, eyes white with anger as he pushed the norsk back hard, catching him off-guard. “You know what’s wrong?!” He yells as he fiercely drop the keys to the ground, sizing Tord up.

“You. _You’re_ what’s wrong with literally fucking everything, you fucking prick!”

Tord looks taken aback for a second, because as common as it had been for the both of them to fight, it was always built up frustration, and Tom’s lashing out at him out of the blue which really doesn’t make sense with how normal their conversation seemed to be ten seconds ago. He stares in shock, before his own face morphs into a frown. “What the hell are you trying to say?”

“What, are you saying you don’t know? Huh?” Tom does that thing with his shoulders again, where he rolls them back, and pretty much signals Tord that he’s looking for a fight.

Though at the moment, Tord’s not really in the mood to pick a fight with the brit. Still he crosses his arms, looking straight into Tom’s voids for eyes as he tried to stay calm. “No, Thomas. I don’t fucking know. And something’s awfully wrong with you, not me.”

“Why, me?” Tom laughs sarcastically, his hands digging into his pockets as he bends over and laughs. Tord watches in confusion when Tom suddenly punches him hard in the chest, “I’m just being a normal human being, and not manipulating everyone into thinking I’m some sort of nice fucking person when I’m actually an evil selfish loathing mastermind on the inside.”

As soon as he finished talking, Tord was officially pissed off. “What are you talking about.”

“Oh you know _damn well_ what I’m talking about.” Tom spoke in between laughs of disbelief, his hand determined to poke a hole into Tord’s chest. “ _You_ , are the one thing in this entire universe that I don’t goddamn understand, because one day you’re just up and gone, the next you’re back, and then the very next you’re a fucking psychotic trigger-happy robot-driving friendship-destroying _asshole_ that nearly killed me and my friends!” He throws his hands up in the air, getting up in Tord’s face like he does with most of their fights, the only difference being that this is the first time Tom’s ever brought this subject up.

And jesus, it feels like the most satisfying shit in the world to see the look on Tord’s stupid face.

“And then you just come back again…and for some fucking reason they’re absolutely fine with it.” Tom grows quiet at the statement for a moment before once again strengthening his glare. “But I’m not, and I’ll never. forgive you. for that.” The brit shoves Tord back with every word.

“And now, now you suddenly pull off this bullshit where you act so scared of getting caught by law enforcements,” Tom laughs again, pacing back and forth slightly, “a-and for a second there I, I actually thought things were back to how they were nine years ago…but I guess I was wrong, because you still talk to your ‘companions’ to the side.” Tom points an accusing finger, “I knew you were fucking hiding something.”

Tord’s hand curls up into a fist. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” Tom snaps, teeth ensnaring, his own hand subconsciously forming into a fist and repeatedly punching into the norsk’s chest. “What do you want from us?! What do you _really_ want? Huh? Tell me before I fucking beat your ass into it.”

They were quiet, faces close, and Tom panting due to the intensity of his anger. Nobody else was in the hall but the two of them, and in Tom’s mind, a fight is more than ideal.

But they’re just staring at each other, the air feeling heavier with each second passing, and Tord’s still not answering his questions. Instead, his eyes once again glistened, pairing up with the foul expression on his face entirely, and Tom was about to comment on it when he notices something that catches him completely off guard, something he never would have noticed if he wasn’t up this close.

Right above the scar on Tord’s face, his right eye.

Tom could swear it was the slightest bit…clouded.

“I should be asking you the same question.” Tord suddenly says, his voice piercing right through Tom’s attention. “What do _you_ want?”

“Wha—“

Tord grabs Tom by the shoulders, taking the man by surprise before the norsk roughly pushes him into the wall, pinning him with both arms by his sides. Tom blinks, shocked at the sudden force of action when Tord brings his face close to is.

“Yes, Thomas. I’m actually more curious to know why you seem _so intent_ on knowing what I want when you,” He raises his left hand, poking a finger into Tom’s forehead when taking his eyes off of his. “…don’t even know what _you_ want.”

Tom was stuck in a mix of bewilderment and anger, deciding to go with the latter but his voice cracking fails to do so, “What I want is completely different from yours.” He spat at him, then scoffs, “Seems to me like you’re trying to avoid the subject.”

Tord scoffs back. “Seems to me like you’re trying to do the same thing.”

The brit tries to push the norsk back, but he doesn’t budge. “Who the fuck are you to call me on out on what I fucking want?“

“Because you fucking did so yourself!”

The outburst shut the brit up, his mouth struggling with words when Tord suddenly punches the wall next to his head, a visible crack forming in its stead.

“Don’t even _think_ you have the right to fucking talk and criticize my actions when you don’t even know _anything_ ,” he growls, “when _you,_ you didn’t even bother to fight for _yourself_ when I came back and took everything from you.”

Tom’s breath hitches, and he stops trying to talk entirely.

“…isn’t that why you hate me, Thomas?”

_That’s…that’s not why._

_Is it?_

Tord’s eyes keep boring into him, slicing him in half, gripping his soul, his mouth cutting him with words so deep that he almost wonders how this conversation even became about him, or how it even started. He fucking hates it.

He fucking hates it because he’s not getting answers.

He fucking hates that Tord’s got the upper hand.

He fucking hates his guts and his stupid face and everything about him.

He fucking hates how right he is.

He fucking hates him.

“You don’t know what you want, jehovah,” Tord repeats, this time in a whisper, “you don’t want to know. And that’s why you’re nothing but a little pussy hiding behind your drunk façade and witty little jokes, always running away from your fucking problems.”

He fucking hates him.

“Classic. Stupid. Tom.”

_Doesn’t he?_

“At least I know what I fucking want, and do everything in my power to take it.”

Tom lets Tord have his silence before speaking. “That doesn’t make any sense…”

Tord’s look falters, and Tom takes advantage of it. “Because if that’s really the case…why are you still here? Why are you staying here, living with us, eating with us, doing stupid things with us, mocking me every. single. day…when you happen to be so fucking determined on taking the goddamn world you want?”

Then something weird happens.

Tord smiles.

And it disappears just as quickly as it came.

“You don’t know _anything,_ about what my world is.”

When he feels the words have sunk in deep enough, Tord pulls back, picks up the keys on the ground, unlocks the door, and leaves, taking the keys with him. Tom watches his back disappear into the emergency exit door once again, his back against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

He takes his flask out.

Drinking at midday?

Not a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the start of a complete trainwreck this chapter. just warning ya, so buckle up buttercups
> 
> read if you wanna doesnt matter:
> 
> this was one of the very few arguements i've ever written for any story, so im sorry if its bad/does not make sense. if you had a problem with it just comment and i'll guide you on the right path somehow lol  
> also its 8pm but i just got home from camp soooo thats why this is uploaded late.  
> thank you for reading this far. im off to bed. leave a comment about what you think, all of you are sweet and me and betabitch(my not-so-critiquing-more-judging beta) honestly love your opinions. even bad ones. so ye, this note getting really long.  
> last note: im on EW amino now yey. name's kiarsky. wanna chat or see crappy art just drop a visit.  
> im sleepy


	6. Nothing Makes Sense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put it in like a timelapse format because I think its cool. also appropriate, cause it looked confusing as hell the first time i wrote it.  
> Tom is confused. Lots of foreshadowing. Oh b o i
> 
> (guys. gUyS. this is a whooping 5,485 words on ms word. holy shite.  
> welp, here's a big chapter after updating over a week. again. heh.)

**Saturday**

_Tom’s sitting in front of a TV, plopped on a couch with little to no light coming from anywhere else but the afro hair commercial playing in front of him—and even with that there were no clear images, just white lights. Bright, unnerving, moving white lights that Tom could comprehend was definitely a commercial about hair, somehow. It was…strange._

_It took a moment for him to register the thoughts going through his head with how the commercial seemed to be taking up ninety percent of his attention, realizing how relaxed he felt.  Protected and…safe. A content breath left his mouth, and it’s officially the first thing he’s done since he woke up from this strange consciousness._

_The second thing he does is find that his favorite childhood toy, Tommie bear, is propped up perfectly on his lap—and that his arms are actually around him. Now that he mentions it, his arms look considerably smaller, in fact his whole body actually appears to be smaller, yet he feels completely the same. It’s at this point that Tom realizes that he’s dreaming. A faint realization, however, as if someone else thought of it fifty feet away from him._

_He tries to see if he can turn his head, and he can. He looks to his left, then to his right, and feel his eyes widen slightly at the sight of both his parents sitting beside him, pineapple father, bowling ball mother, watching the TV as intently as he had been just a few seconds ago. Confusion settled, and then the brit realizes again, that the confusion has always been there._

_Tom tries to touch them, but fails. The dream has taken over his senses._

_He looks towards the TV._

_It shuts off._

* * *

 Tom doesn’t wake up with a start like he expected to.

His eyes simply pop open, wide as far as they can go.

He brings a hand to his chest…his breathing is still pretty normal. He blinks, shaking his head. It’s not like he had a nightmare or something—or at least, he doesn’t consider it as one but…it confuses him a little since he’s not really the type of person who dreams, usually just blacking out and waking up. He hadn’t dreamed in so long that dreaming almost seemed like a myth to him, so this is a bit of a surprise.

Tom finds himself staring at the ceiling. It’s still pretty dark, and there isn’t any light coming from the small space under the door, so he assumes that he just woke up at some ungodly hour…and he’s probably still drunk, considering how hazy he feels just looking from one place to another.

He’s in his room.

…their room.

Whatever. And this time he means it. What-fucking-ever.

As per usual, he feels Ringo shifting above his stomach, lazily raising his head a little to look at the big lump under his shirt—he regretted the action immediately, head plopping back down on his pillow as the familiar sledgehammer-like pounding on his head finally rears its ugly little head.

There it is. There’s the hangover.

“Ah, shit.” Tom cussed when one particular pound hurt right where he wished it wouldn’t, hands bolting up to grip at his hair. The action alerts Ringo of his distress, the feline stretching her limbs before quietly coming out of Tom’s shirt to rest beside him instead. She rubs her head against his side, trying to help ease him.

It’s pretty fucking adorable, but it’s not helping.

Tom blindly reaches for his bedside table. Having memorized exactly where and what to do with his hands in this situation, he finds the drawer handle and immediately pulls it out, hand rummaging for the aspirin bottle. After a few seconds of not being able to find it, Tom groans and lays on his side when his eyes lock on Tord’s empty bed on the other side of the room.

Empty. Of course, since the guy’s sleeping in Matt’s room tonight. Tom being able to sleep in his own sturdy bed rather than Matt’s overly velvet cushions gives him more than just relief. It’s satisfying, but the thought slowly diminishes the more Tom stares at the other side of the room.

He forgets about the pain for a moment, tired eyes straining across the norski’s…“side” of the room. Everything about it makes Tom feel repulsive. The desk beside the bed full of DvDs(hentai probably) and suspicious looking blueprints, the weird-ass anime posters on the wall, the small dresser that contains his surprisingly small wardrobe, the scent of smoke and cinnamon contaminating half the room(now that he realizes it)—it’s all…Tord. Half of _his_ room is a direct embodiment of _Tord_ and he hates it.

It never should have been his side.

He never had to have it.

He never had to come back.

_“You don’t know anything, about what my world is.”_

Tom sits up despite the pounding in his head slowly creeping back into his senses, getting off the bed as quietly as he could. He keeps his eyes trained on the wall by the man’s bed as he tip-toes towards it.

He’s not exactly sure why he’s about to do what he thinks he’s gonna do, considering the last time it happened he heard…pretty weird things, but he doesn’t care. On the other side of that wall is Matt’s bed, where Tord is sleeping, and that’s all Tom’s thinking of as he climbed on top of the man’s bed, leaning his aching head against the cement.

He doesn’t hear anything but the slight buzzing of Matt’s fan, and a tinge of Tord snoring, so he breathes in, then it hitches.

_“You don’t know what you want, jehovah,”_

Tom grits his teeth, and before he knew it the words came spilling out of his mouth in a whisper with the intent of conveying what really _wanted_ , of saying what he truly _wanted_ to say, to prove that bastard _wrong_ …yet he felt more questionable than he’s ever been as soon as he came down to the last bitter word.

…

God, he’s still pretty fucking drunk isn’t he. What did he just say?

He doesn’t remember. Jesus, he can’t even believe how he’s able to see the room clearly with how fucking dark it is and—shit, his head hurts.

He’s still a bit drunk, hungover, and stupid all at the same time. Holy shit.

He seemed to be thinking clearly up until a few seconds ago.

What the hell is happening?

The brit detaches himself from the wall, only to fall back, tumbling over Tord’s bed and crashing on the floor.

A really loud crash.

Tom stumbled over himself trying to get up as quickly as he could, heart beating loudly against his ribcage as he jumps back into his bed in a frenzy. He took uneven breathes as he watched the wall with wide eyes, hiding under his blanket.

It took a few moments of panic and Ringo meowing did he finally ask himself what the hell he was even doing.

* * *

 

Edd and Matt watched from their beds as Tom dropped a huge box on the floor, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow with a (creepy)smile on his face. They have been eating breakfast when the brit suddenly walked in with whatever he was carrying, and have been staring at him struggle to carry it towards them for the past ten seconds.

Needless to say, they were confused.

They shared concerned looks with each other, Matt moving his eyebrows as an indication of “Well? Aren’t you gonna say something?”, Edd shrugging his right shoulder reluctantly. Tom still seemed to be busy with whatever he was doing(hopefully not planning to murder them), and the two shared communicating gestures back and forth until the brit abruptly stands up with his hands on his hips.

Tom. Hands on hips. Did Edd take too much medication?

“Good morning, you two!”

Their confused looks instantly morphed into mortified ones.

Matt slowly cranes his neck over to Edd’s direction in an attempt to seem discrete and whispers, “Are we getting tricked?”

“I highly think so.” Edd whispers back. “Maybe the penguins are back.”

“Didn’t they go back to Antarctica because of global warming?”

“Maybe…the globe _stopped_ warming.”

Matt covers his mouth in a gasp. “You’re right!”

“Hey, idiots, I’m still here.” Tom intercepts between their little meeting, the mention of the insult being thrown towards the two immediately shooting their doubts down. They simultaneously release a sigh of relief, and Tom just sighs. “Is it really that weird to see me happy?”

“Very much!” Tom shoots Matt a dirty look, and the patient simply responses with a bloated smile.

 Now that he thinks about it, Matt and Yuu are somewhat alike. A little.

“What are you so chirpy about anyways?” Edd asks with clear suspicion, eye trailing over to the box Tom had been previously busy with. The brit follows his housemate’s gaze at the heavy-ass piece of carton by his feet. “And…what’s in the box?”

“Well Edd, you’re in for a surprise.” Tom rubs his hands together, kneeling down to open the box and rummage through it.

Edd wasn’t really sure what he was anticipating(hopefully not a murder), but all the fear and suspicion washed away from his body the moment Tom pulled out a beautiful, wonderful, gorgeously crafted-by-factories gallon of cola…with bacon.

Tom definitely saw stars in Edd’s eyes as the guy repeatedly slams his right hand against his bed’s side rail, the brit looking at the poor hand in concern. “GIVE GIVE GIVE!” He begs, arm waving around like a helicopter. “GIVE IT TO ME! I NEED IT TO **_LIVE_**!”

“Uh, no, what you need is surgery.” The poor guy’s eyes start getting glossy. Before he could completely ruin Edd’s mood, Tom adds snickering, “Alright, alright. Finish your breakfast first.”

The artist whines. “But _Tom_ —!”

“Finish it.”

Edd pouts but obliges anyway, right hand picking up his spoon and going back to his bed and breakfast. Matt is pouting as well, fat bloated arms crossed. “What about me?!”

“Hold up.” Tom hums before taking out Matt’s favorite mirror, “I guess you wouldn’t really want this right now huh?” Matt’s smile slumps down and he nods in disappointment, but perks up when Tom seems to be looking for something. “This, I’m sure you’ll like.”

Tom brings out five(not sick, not fat, not covered in disgusting hives) self-portraits of Matt, the man squealing in glee at the sight of, well, himself and heavy arms flailing around like mad. “GIVE GIVE GIVE! GIVE ME TO ME!”

The brit clicks his tongue, raising a hand. “Breakfast.”

“Yeah Matt. _Breakfast_.” Edd repeats with a challenging tone, Matt(surprisingly to Tom) picking it up and smirking. The two stare at each other with menacing smiles until Edd drops some sort of signal. The two start gobbling up the food on their laps like animals, food spilling literally everywhere, and Tom’s got the feeling they’re not just doing this for the stuff he brought as a piece of whatever the fuck they were eating landed on his cheek.

“What the fuck, guys.”

Edd smiles sheepishly, pieces of broccoli decorating his teeth. “We get bored here a lot.” Matt strongly nods in agreement, attempting to express himself but failing with how he was speaking through mouthfuls of chowder. Tom thought he caught Edd’s eye giving the ginger an…affectionate glance when the latter suddenly speaks up. “So, uh, why are you doing this stuff by the way? I’m starting to get a bit convinced you’re not Tom again with how...sweet, this all is. So unTom-like.”

“Shut up.” Tom covers the blush on his face with his hoodie, his friends simply smiling at him.

He stares at the both of them before giving a small smile back, then bending back down to the box. “I actually brought one last thing, since I already knew how bored the both of you must have been.”

The two pause at eating to watch Tom curiously once again, eyes(eye) lighting up when the brit stands up with Edd’s video game console perched up on his arms.

Tom doesn’t realize he’s muted out their excited responses until he felt just how…happy he is, to be with them. Even when they’re like this, still so full of energy. They fall in contrast with him completely, and it’s what holds them together.

He finally listens to Edd’s constant demands to set the thing up, laughing as he did so. If he can’t live without them, then he might as well make the most of it.

…at least, that’s what he believes he’s doing.

* * *

 

What Tom loved about their apartment is the fact that all the rooms are connected by one small hallway, one end presenting the front door, the other a nice (double) window giving what light the sun or moon has to offer. Tom loves it, since he pretty much comes home drunk seventy five percent of the time, and a little to a lot of light definitely helps as long as he’s not in the middle of a hangover.

What Tom hates, however, is the man blocking the light by standing right by the wonderful fucking window.

The brit’s tired, having spent the entirety of his time playing with Edd and Matt(Edd, surprisingly, skilled even with just one hand), then going to the supermarket(again) to buy that window set Yuu texted him about. He walked a lot, drank a little, needs to eat, needs to refill his flask even though he just refilled it last night after their stupid fight—he’s tired. He’s fucking exhausted, it’s fucking dark, and Tord doesn’t even realize his presence, is what Tom’s fucking saying.

He opens his mouth to say something…but then shuts it, because he actually doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say.

Although it was then he noticed that Tord was talking.

“…Я мог бы изучить это,” Tord mumbles, Tom making out a phone next to his ear. He can’t see his face, but the light reflected on his fist, revealing how white his knuckles were around the small beat-up phone. It was his left hand. Tord took off the glove on his left hand. Tom’s mouth stretches into a thin line as he looks to the norsk’s right—glove still in place.

It was just silence for a moment, then Tord lets out a small, defeated laugh, that Tom never knew existed. It has always been cocky and undermining, not sad and…broken.

Tom frowns to himself. He’s definitely heard a glimpse of it before, when he first called him at the supermarket—

“Может быть, я буду счастливее.” Tord says with a tone that sounds so fucking depressing that Tom stiffens in surprise. It’s weird, because to him the guy’s just speaking gibberish(if not shit) and he hates him.

Feeling something for someone like Tord honestly doesn’t sit well with the brit.

The norsk presses a button to end the call and stuffs it in his pocket before leaning against the windowsill, staring at his right hand. Tom’s brows meet.

Tord played around the edges of his fingers for a moment, about to take the glove off when he finally looks up, eyes widening when he finds Tom standing right in front of the door, big plastic bag in hand. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, and the brit couldn’t help the satisfying feeling(but also a bit of frustration) that spread through his chest.

The communist just stares at him in shock for a few seconds before clearing his throat, eyes avoiding no eyes. “How…long have you been standing there?”

Tom’s expression upgrades to a scowl, gently dropping the new window set on the wall beside him before shooting him a glare.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He spites sarcastically. He takes in the cautious look on Tord’s face before entering Matt’s room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

 

**Sunday**

Edd takes small sips from his glass of cola(considering how freaked out the doctor got after seeing how much cola Tom supplied him with), staring at Tom who is playing Mario Kart with Matt, the ginger’s eye burrowing in concentration whilst the brit had more of a far-off look…as if he’s not even giving the game his full attention. It’s strange.

Matt seems to be winning, even though Tom’s following not far behind.

Still, Matt beating anybody at Mario Kart is a strong giveaway that something’s seriously out of place.

“Tom?” The man in question replies with a small hum, Edd feeling like he’s treading on thin ice as he asks the next question so hesitantly that Tom pauses the entire game(despite Matt’s protests) to face him.

“Are you and Tord…okay? Didn’t break anything, or fight, yeah…you know what I mean.”

Something glimmers somewhere in the voids that are Tom’s eyes as they locked gazes with one another. Call Edd crazy, but he swore he saw it. It meant something. Something must have happened. He looks to Matt, who wore the same expression as him.

“Oh, nothing.” Tom blinks as if he just spaced out, looking back to the console and resuming the game. “Nothing at all. Everything’s great. Nice and peachy, so don’t worry about it.”

Edd and Matt share a look, before the artist presses on, “Are you sure?”

Tom’s grip on the controller tightens, but he answers anyway.

“As sure as I’m winning this fucking game.”

The rest of the day went on in silence after Matt’s character inevitably sped through the finish line.

* * *

  **Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday**

Tom comes home to find the apartment empty.

Tord’s stuff is still in his room.

* * *

 

**?????**

What day is it?

Tom asks himself, having been staring at the ceiling for hours after drowning in the entirety of his flask. What a better way to get completely drunk than to do it at the dead of night, when everyone else is asleep and he can truly be alone with his thoughts—which is stupid, because his thoughts have been consisting of a certain communist asshole for the past days. Stupid. So stupid. To add to that his eyesight is jumbled, the room is spinning, Tord’s not home.

…

The week passed by in a blur to Tom.

Mostly because he only remembers doing simple things—waking up from yet another weird dream, eating cereal, Edd and Matt, going home, and then finding Tord either asleep in his respective room, or not yet home at all…which became most apparent the third day. Tom would actually pause to recall the last time he’d seen him. Ironically, it’s what Tom constantly catches himself wondering about, like maybe he’s at work, to where he even works, or what kind of work he does, if he’s even coming back—

Whatever he wonders about, it’s stupid.

It’s moronic.

He was the one avoiding the norsk in the first place…

_“You don’t know what you want, jehovah,”_

…so why the hell does he even care?

_“You don’t want to know.”_

* * *

 

**Friday**

Tom enters the cola room(or, more notably, the kitchen/dining room) after another day of “doing nothing interesting”, thinking of various string companies he could maybe contact directly as he prepares a bowl of cereal for dinner. Ringo follows behind him, Tom bending down with the cereal box in hand and pouring a small pile of food for her. The brit felt a bit sympathetic. The table has a broken leg, and her bowl had been crushed, so the both of them had to deal with it like this for now. He doesn’t know about Tord though, since Tom seems to be the only one actually eating cereal.

Tom stands up(startling Ringo), recognizing the fact that Tord just once again intercepted into his thoughts. He frowns, pouring milk into his dinner before silently losing himself in the wonderful act of eating, staring into the room that had once been a complete mess.

It’s…another night without Tord around.

To say he’s glad felt…questionable. A lot of things started to seem questionable to Tom right after the morning he woke up from their fight, and it all just seemed like a blur.

He hated it, how his thoughts had been going haywire, not making sense for absolutely no fucking reason. Is he missing something? Tom doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. Confused, maybe. Nothing ever seemed surer to him than his undying hatred for the batshit crazy communist, and yet here he is, thinking shit that he doesn’t even fully understand and kinda doesn’t want to understand and—crap, he needs to get drunk right this moment.

Tom finishes his cereal, quickly dropping it on the sink(he’ll wash it in the morning)and instantly grabs at a bottle from the fridge before he could start thinking any further…stopping when he spots a pair of keys reflected by the moonlight, sitting innocently on the counter.

He blinks, staring at them dumbfounded.

“…tch.”

The brit quickly refills his flask and goes to his(their) room, where he will be sleeping today. He walked with a fast pace and slams the door shut, as a point to…no one, in particular.

“…”

A few minutes pass before Tom comes out to unlock the front door, back to his room faster than one could blink.

* * *

 

**Saturday**

“Heya Tom! Long time no see eh?”

Tom stares at him, still half-awake as he tries to process just what the hell is happening. He just woke up, he’s in bedhead, and the hangover’s gone. Still, he doesn’t quite feel that he’s really in touch with reality yet.

The face of whoever it is in front of him materializes—blonde hair, blue eyes, dwarf stature…oh.

“It’s you.”

“Yep, it’s me. I’m back!” Yuu smiles with just as much vigor as the first time Tom saw him, still standing outside of the doorway with his toolbox in hand. Tom failed to notice this until after a few seconds of regaining proper consciousness, stepping aside to let the man in. He happily complies. “So did you buy the new window set yet?”

“Uh…yeah, I did.” The brit nods rubbing at his face sleepily as he closes the door, revealing the plastic bag that was behind it. Tom tries to suppress the incoming eye roll when Yuu starts clapping his hands.

He picks it up, carrying it towards the cola room whilst trying not to trip himself, Yuu following behind. “…where were you, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.” Tom asks.

“Not at all! Actually, I guess the text was a bit vague huh?” Yuu laughs nervously.

Vague’s an understatement, Tom retorts in his head. He had a feeling his dry throat would betray him from sounding as savage as he wished.

Tom nods, setting the new set right under the broken one. Yuu seemed to find this as an opportunity to babble, and so he did. “I’ve actually been assigned to an apartment on a different part of town without my knowledge the same time I came here, so the owner got pretty mad that I wasn’t there and…”

Tom muted him out as he walked towards the counter to make himself breakfast, nodding along to whatever he was saying. He rubbed his half-lidded eyes, preparing a bowl when he remembers there’s still the one he didn’t wash. He goes over to the sink, getting ready to get his hands wet only to find it empty, the bowl neatly placed on drying rack next to it.

…huh.

“…so I figured it take me a week to finish his ordeal so I decided—hey, you okay?” Yuu asks, the brit snapping out of his reverie. He feels himself waking up a little more as he looked at the confused expression on the short man’s face and waves his hand dismissively.

“Y-Yes, I’m good. Just, um,” He snaps his fingers, looking for the right words to say, “tell me if you need help or uh, something.”

“…alright?”

Tom laughs nervously. “I’m just kinda tired, so don’t mind me. I’ll be here eating and…yeah.” The brit trails off, turning his back to him as he proceeded to prepare himself breakfast. He could feel the repairman’s gaze burning at the back of his head, sighing in relief when he hears him open up his toolbox and quietly starting with his work.

At least, until he broke the silence just a few moments after.

“So, what’s up?”

The milk dripping from Tom’s chin is quickly wiped off when he not-so-nonchalantly looks over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I nearly forgot you were eating!” Yuu makes a ‘whew’ motion with his hands, “Glad you didn’t choke to death.”

Tom choked at that.

“Ah, shizkabobs! Sorry dude, I’ll be quiet now.” Yuu says apologetically, busying himself with preparing the drill in his hands. Tom finds it a bit funny(and weird), how neurotic Yuu’s speech is yet he acts like a completely composed person.

He also finds it a bit weird how Yuu’s showed him so much of his personality—for a repairman. He’d expected them to be a lot less…chatty, and more business-y.

“Sorry for intruding in on your meal.”

“…it’s alright.” Tom mutters, thinking how he’s not even eating a proper meal anyway. He sees Ringo enter the room, taking the cereal box and bending down. “What were you asking? By the way?”

“Oh, well, I was just wondering what’s got you so bothered.”

Tom nearly tipped the whole cereal box over, Ringo’s food becoming a little too much. He blinked at the repairman, “What?”

“Bothered? You know, distraught, upset, unnerved, unsettled, frustrated—“ Yuu’s counting with his fingers, stopping when Tom gives him a look, “—those words! I just notice them crippling all over your face, so I’m a bit curious. But don’t mind me, it’s none of my business.”

“…” The brit stands up when Ringo starts nibbling on her food, placing the box on the counter. He stares at his bowl of unfinished cereal, watching seeming more interesting than eating at the moment. Tom wants to say something along the lines of “it’s nothing”, or “I don’t want to talk about”, but the words don’t come out. Mainly because he knew he had to talk about it, whatever was going on with him, but it’s Yuu he’s talking to here. A guy he hasn’t even properly met, and weirdly shouldn’t even be talking to.

On top of that, the man in question’s already distracted with something else. So this would be a good time to stay silent and let the issue drop right?

Wrong. Tom’s an idiot, so he spoke up.

“…it’s nothing special, really…but,” Yuu turns to face Tom, drill now ready in his hand as he cocked his head, smiling questioningly, “…can I ask you something?”

“Oooh, questions! Give me a moment.” The man runs his free hand through his gelled hair and straightens his necktie, clearing his throat before posing a finger gun. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Tom stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head. “Anyway, um,” he starts, clinking his spoon around his bowl in an effort to sound like he’s thinking, “I just…”

“Hm?”

Breathe in. Out. “If there’s this person that you really, really, _really_ don’t like,” Tom struggles not to use the word hate, Yuu nodding patiently, “And well, you guys just fight. Like, all the time. Whether it’d be verbal, or physical, it ends with nothing. Just ends. What I mean is, nothing about it should matter to you. Nothing about the person should matter to you.”

There’s a pause. “So, your question?”

“…what if, as stupid as it sounds, the fight did end up mattering to you. You can’t stop thinking about it, but you firmly believe you won anyway but it doesn’t sound right and—“ Tom breathes in, “What do you do, if that person, that person you don’t like…calls you out for who you are as a person?”

“…”

Tom looked up at Yuu, eyes widening. The man was shocked—his finger gun faltering, the shine in his eyes completely gone. The brit didn’t really understand why until he realized the question he just asked, an apology immediately burning at the back of his throat.

Still, the room fell dead silent. They both just stared at each other, Tom inwardly cringing at just how weird the situation is.

He just asked a personal question to his repairman, and possibly offended him.

Jesus.

“Hey look I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—“

“No no, it’s okay!” Yuu came back to his senses, smile back in place as he waves his hand. “I pried, it’s my fault. Just give me a sec, answering questions has been my forte and I won’t fail myself now!” He puts a hand under his chin and starts thinking comically, as if he wasn’t frozen still just a few seconds ago. Tom just quietly starts eating his breakfast again.

“Hm, seems to me like you should just acknowledge whatever the person said.”

He spits it out.

“Woah, hear me out sir!” Yuu says as Tom struggles to get rid of the milk that somehow found its way into his nose. The brit looked at him with wide eyes, thoroughly confused. “Let me explain, alright? Don’t die, please.”

Tom slowly nods, bewilderment plastered all across his face. Yuu sighs in relief. “Okay, so…what I mean is that when somebody tells you something about yourself that you don’t like, you still have to ‘acknowledge’ it, somehow.”

“…acknowledge?”

“Yep! Acknowledge. Consider. Take into account. Noti—“

“I get it.” Tom pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just continue, please.”

“Alrighty!” Yuu opens the broken window and sits on the windowsill(Tom freaks out about it but the man waves it off), settling the drill down next to him. He place a leg over the other, hands propped on his knee like a grandfather about to boast knowledge to his grandkids.

…when it’s put in that context, it actually kinds of make sense.

“The thing is, it really depends on you on how you’re gonna react to other people’s thoughts about you. You can’t really change yourself unless you want to right? It’s all you, but,” He raises a finger, “you have to at least ‘acknowledge’ these thoughts.

We can decide for ourselves if we’re content with how we are, but when other people point out your flaws…wouldn’t hurt to take it into consideration.” Yuu smiles, but this time, the first time, it actually looks really genuine. “After all, as long as you decide to still be you, you’ll still be you—if not better.”

The room fell silent again, then Tom speaks. “…and what if, I decide not to listen?”

Yuu shrugs. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“…”

When words were no longer exchanged for over a minute Yuu clasps his hands together, jumping off the windowsill. “Back to work for me it is! Enjoy the rest of your breakfast, sir Tom.”

“…he’s a dick though.”

Yuu blinks. “Sorry?”

“He’s a complete piece of shit.” Tom says louder, spoon digging into the bottom of his bowl. A little more force and he’s going to break through it. “He’s evil. He’s an asshole. He’s an idiot. He’s so full of shit and at the same time so fucking shallow that I can’t even begin to comprehend just how much bullshit he’s put me through the years and then comes back with more bullshit than every other bullshitting person in the entire world.”

The small man’s in the middle of processing Tom’s outburst when the man suddenly faces him, face contorted with so much anger that Yuu flinches. “Tell me, Yuu…why should I even so much as listen to what a person like that has to say, much less acknowledge it?”

“…are you mad at me, sir?”

“No, please just answer.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think—“

“And I thought answering questions were your forte?”

They both stare each other down, and as mad as Tom is, it’s a little hard to ignore the fact that Yuu’s staring at him with bloated cheeks. It goes on for a few more seconds, until finally Yuu huffs in frustration.

“You really want to hear it?”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Yuu sighs, taking a moment to look Tom in the eye. “Well, if it bothers you so much, then doesn’t that mean that what that person said is…probably true?”

It took a few seconds to take it in, but Tom heard it, and that’s all it took to shut down every aggressive emotion he supposedly felt as he hears his spoon splashing into the milk of his breakfast. The action caught Yuu’s attention, and he gave the brit a knowing look before cracking his knuckles, returning to work.

The two stayed quiet for the rest of the morning, unknowingly to Tom, thinking of the exact same thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you guys enjoy that? i did. i layk it a lat  
> (please recommend me songs)  
> (also comment what you think)  
> (luv ya guys)  
> (i choked on peanuts while writing this oops)


	7. To: Add Recipent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE END NOTES WHEN YOU DONE K THANKS BAI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as you can see im bad at titles. and this chapter isn't really eventful? for me anyway. but i hope you guys enjoy it still lmao  
> AND CRAP. THIS JUST REACHED A HUNDRED KUDOS TWO DAYS AGO?? LIKE THANK YOU SO MUCH I MEAN WHAT DO YOU GUYS EVEN SEE IN THIS SCHMUCK  
> I love all of you, really, it kills me to give you a chapter as crappy as this aslhgdhsljhsd

“I’ll be back tomorrow, sir.”

Tom nods as he opened the door for the small guy, looking down at his feet. He’s been avoiding the other man’s eyes the entire morning he’s been here, though it seems the latter’s moved on from their conversation no later than two minutes after—humming along to whatever song was playing to the earphones he’d plugged into his ears while he worked.

It didn’t occur to Tom that he originally planned to go to the hospital again until Yuu announced his leave two hours later.  Didn’t even notice how he’d ended up sprawled on his bed after eating breakfast _before_ that, Ringo cuddling up next to him. The brit remembered considering to take a shower, then shooting the idea down immediately. There’s a stranger(not so much anymore, but still strange) in his apartment and a shower just seemed…weird, at that moment. Then he…he plopped down on his bed, he guessed? Waiting. That’s what he thinks he was doing. For what, he doesn’t exactly know.

Instead of Yuu’s name popping out of that thought, Tord’s does, which explains how tightly his fist had been holding on to his pillow. He was probably thinking, and it all went to hell somewhere down the line.

He feels really lightheaded, realizing the answer to why that is when he finds himself holding a new bottle in one hand, tipsy, and it’s actually starting to worry him a little, as strange as that is.

Goddamn it Tom.

Back to the present, he realized Yuu had already exited the apartment and is standing outside the doorway, toolbox in one hand and the other shoved into his pocket. Tom looked down at his own, one holding the knob and the other holding previously mentioned bottle. He frowns before his gaze shifts up to Yuu again, who once again smiles (seemingly)artificially, “Hope you come to terms with them, whoever they are.” As usual, and because he just can’t keep his mood to himself, Tom made a noise of response similar to a grunt. Yuu laughs politely anyway, then leaves.

He’s alone in the apartment again.  Shocker.

The brit stares ahead for a moment, then he blinks as the thoughts that had been running through his head flashed back to his memory like a bucket of water thrown to his face.

Tom slowly closes the door in front of him, dropping the bottle in his hand to the floor without much fucks to give as he rushes back to his room, ready to take that shower and get ready to head out. He’d decided, as an excuse for blanking out for the past two hours, that his conversation with Yuu had reached an obvious conclusion. One that ultimately, he’d decided was incredibly stupid, and would be a complete pain in the ass, and really, really unnecessary.

That being: he still hates Tord, wholeheartedly, but…maybe he’s a little more willing to hear him out.

Now, Tom would be lying if he said that that was hard to admit—because it wasn’t. As stubborn and irritable as he can be(and he knows it), especially when it comes to the red-hoodied communist, he’s not stupid enough to just ignore Yuu’s advice. It came as a shock, sure, something he’d ended up getting a little drunk over in the goddamn morning for chrissake, but he knew even before then that the man was right and as much as he truly wants to succumb further into his denial…he just can’t. It’s been eating at him, he knew that, and he had to stop torturing his own mindset eventually.

Tom’s actually facing the music, which proves Tord just the tiniest bit wrong. _Suck on that, commie shit._ But then, he slumped forward and nearly choked on the collar of his shirt as he tried to take it off, his thoughts leading to the inevitable, million-dollar question.

_How?_

This is where the ‘pain-in-the-ass’ part comes in. Tom lets out his frustration by letting the bathroom door slam open louder than necessary. _How_ is he supposed to hear him out? Track his communist ass all over the city, drag him back home, sit him on Edd’s sofa and force him to talk over a cup of coffee?

Is he still even in the city? Tom asks himself before deciding, of course he is…though he’s not sure. AGH.

Tord’s avoiding—no, wait, he— _they_ , both of them, are clearly avoiding each other. Tom knows Tord came home last night because of the washed bowl. Clearly, he does come home only when Tom’s probably asleep. The brit started this, whatever it was(a fight or a grudge, maybe both), but it still frustrates him now that he’s taking Tord’s side into…consideration. And it only frustrates him more that he is…he is…

Why the fuck is he even thinking about this?

He said it himself that Tord shouldn’t even matter to him, and he chooses to stand by that.

Therefore, he should just drop this and let it happen on its own time.

Right.

Tom nods, as if to reassure himself, trying to focus on the cold-ass water hitting his skin…trying to stop thinking too hard about him.

Because Tord doesn’t matter to him.

…right.

* * *

 

Tom will never get used to the sound of his phone ringing.

Ten flights of stairs down, all fresh and surprisingly sober, Tom was for the first time content with his own state of mind since the week started. The sudden realization and new compromise he’s had with himself brought him to a fairly acceptable mood—not really crossing his usual grumpy one, but back to the uncaring and laidback feeling he’s had before this whole mess started. He climbs down one more flight of stairs, sighing in content.

And then, the metal contraption in his pocket violently starts mocking something akin to a seizure strong enough to send him tripping over himself.

“Shit!” The brit immediately latched himself into the railing closest to him. He waited for his heartbeat to calm down from the shock before sighing in relief, aggressively reaching a hand into his pocket to grab the damn—god it’s loud. What the fuck.

He straightened himself, staring at the caller ID. It was an unknown number—nope. He brought his thumb down to press the end call button…and it slipped. The background of the call went green and his breath hitched. What the fuck again.

He reluctantly presses up the phone to his ear, about to continue his trek down the stairs when the eerily familiar voice boomed through the speakers.

_“Good noon, kid!”_ Tom suppresses an annoyed groan, distancing the phone a little. He remembers this obnoxious tone alright. Eddie.

“Hey.”

_“Don’t you remember me?”_ Tom was about to retort ‘Of course I do’ when a floodgate of memories opened up in his head.

Him pretending to be Edd’s boyfriend, pretending to cry, humiliating the shit out of himself and…the panicked look on Tord’s face when he nearly got caught.

Tom unintentionally chokes out a laugh.

_“What? What’s funny?”_

His eyes widened, surprised at what he just did. He shakes his head and starts climbing back down. “Yeah no—good noon, officer. I um, I was just doing dishes,” Tom paused, “and our cat just dug up a hole—on the ground because—we were at the park earlier yep and I kinda just remembered and hahahaha. Pretty neat huh?”

_“…okay?”_

“Yes! Uh, I mean—shit.” Tom rubs at his face(he’s been doing that a lot recently), “Look I’m just—what did you call for officer? And yes I do remember you. Thank you for saving my best—boyfriend’s life by the way.” The brit says with a chipper pitch, muttering a silent apology to Edd and waving his hand as if he’s sending it with the wind.

_“Oh, so you do remember me! I’m flattered_.” There it is. Tom would’ve welcomed the cringe had he not been expecting it. _“And it was no problem, just doing our job is all. Actually that’s what I’ve been meaning to talk about—“_

“Um, officer, how did you get my number?” Tom cuts him off with genuine curiosity, brows furrowed. He remembers taking Eddie’s card, but not giving him his number. The thought of Eddie using his power as a police officer(detective?) to track his information is more than a little unsettling. He clears his throat. “Not to be rude or anything.”

Eddie laughs from the other line, and it relaxes Tom somehow. _“Not at all. I was actually trying to find information about you since we didn’t really get the chance to have proper questioning. My daughter has your number, said she filmed a movie with you once.”_

_…movie?_

The brit squints his eyes, vaguely remembering the time he used up all of their savings to buy a camera. They had made the worst movie ever, along with a…cool girl with blue hair he can’t seem to remember the name of, but now that he thought about it they probably did exchange numbers so he could contact her for their shootings. It’s just been so long, and he’s pretty sure he purposely dumped that memory somewhere in the back of his head. He shakes it. “Oh, okay. Continue.”

Tom notices Eddie’s voice suddenly shifts from his cheery tone to a serious one as he says, _“It’s about your boyfriend.”_

Another cringe. “And?”

_“I hope you don’t but um…we’re planning to revisit your place soon.”_

Tom’s entire body immediately came to a halt.

“Wait…what?”

_“I’ll explain in a bit.”_ Eddie assures him, Tom’s not exactly sure why _. “I’m assuming you’ve cleaned up the mess by now?”_

“You—? Um—yes. Yeah the uh, the repairman just started work on the window.” Tom replies, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice how lost he sounds.

Silence, then an approving hum. _“Alright, I guess that’s fine. We’ve made our initial check on the scene already anyway.”_

“I’m sorry, but what exactly are you talking about?” Tom finally inquires, his free hand holding the railing next to him for support. There’s a growing weight at the center of his chest, and he doesn’t know why the more he talks the more the foreboding feeling grows. “Why are you planning to revisit? Is something going on?”

_“Isn’t it obvious?”_

Tom held back a strangled no. “I’m afraid I don’t exactly get it officer.” Is what he settles for, and even then it clearly translates to _“what the fuck do you fucking mean?”_

Eddie sighs, and it only strengthens Tom’s confusion further.

_“Kid,”_ He starts, _“what happened to your boyfriend…it wasn’t an accident, you know that right?”_

The weight in his chest does a straight drop right to his stomach.

“…what?”

_“I guess I left that out when I told you about what happened.”_ He hears Eddie let out another sigh, this time a more tired one. _“We weren’t sure at the time ourselves, so I guess we didn’t really have a reason to tell you, and we thought you could’ve guessed it yourself. Sorry, kid.”_

It doesn’t make sense.

“What do you mean…?”

_“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about—“_ He stops midsentence, and Tom hears a bunch of men’s voices echoing in the background. A shuffling sound here and there doesn’t help with what rate Tom’s heart is currently running by, and Eddie finally returns to the phone. _“Kid, I’ve gotta go. We’ve got another case to focus on, unfortunately.”_

Before Eddie could end the call Tom immediately calls out, “W-When are you coming?”

_“It depends. Sometime today or tomorrow afternoon? Look, kid, I promise I’ll explain everything, I just gotta go right now.”_

“…okay.”

Eddie finishes the call with a short ‘beep’, and Tom is once again left alone with his racing thoughts and pulse.

Edd…someone did that to him on purpose.

Tom nearly felt his knees give out and sat down on the stair he was standing on. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and ran his fingers through his hair. The information felt more than just something that’s a lot to take in. Images of Edd flashed back through his head. The morning he and Tord first saw him—in a wheelchair, sloppy bandages, blood stains everywhere…a toaster on his face.

It was ridiculous.

But bloody hell, he was a _fucking mess_.

A crippling sense of guilt grew at the back of Tom’s throat in the form of a lump. His thoughts had been so preoccupied with Tord that he didn’t even bother to try and analyze what just so happened to be at stake. Edd and Matt were not just injured, they were and still are under the threat of major conditions, and he ignored it despite how much time he’s spent with them. It makes him sick, how he’d supposedly care about them and yet…

Deep breaths.

…someone tried to hurt Edd. Heck, maybe even kill him, and as stretched out as that is, it’s a possibility, and it’s making Tom’s blood boil and his head spin with questions. Who could’ve done it? Who would have the audacity to just— _Why?!_

And he’s not overthinking. He heard it in Eddie’s voice, all too clearly.

Everything he said spelled out “there’s no way it could’ve been an accident”.

Deep breaths.

Deeper.

Deeper.

Not helping.

He needs to see Edd.

Tom shoots up and bolts down the stairs as quickly as he could. His hand is sliding down the railing as he does so, the urge to grip it a hard battle to fight. Eventually he loses(he’s too rattled), his nerves overtaking him and he jerks forward, his phone slipping out of his pocket. He watches in horror as the gadget crashes down, wincing each time the glass clashes with the stone steps.

“Shit, shit, shit.” The brit cusses under his breath as bent down to pick it up. There’s a small crack on the screen now, and he turns it on to make sure nothing else is damaged. It opens up to his contacts, and his breath hitches when he sees one contact name in particular.

The whole point of Eddie’s call was to notify him that he and his subordinates are coming over, and he said they might come over today. Today he’s going to Edd and Matt, meaning they’ll come while he’s away, and when he’s away…

_Tord._

“No.” Tom says to himself, standing up. “Nonono. No.”

One step down. “He won’t—no. He probably won’t. He’s probably at work.”

_It’s Saturday. He doesn’t have work on Saturdays, because that’s when he and Matt play weekly chess in his(their) room._

Two steps down. “Eddie might not even come.”

_He might._

Three steps down. “I don’t care if he gets fucking caught.”

_Shut up Tom._

Four, five, twenty steps down. Two more flights to the ground floor. Still, he stops to think. “I…goddamn it.”

Tom stops, completely, and tries to reason with himself—one, he’s already climbed down thirteen fucking flights of stairs. Two, and most importantly, he needs to see Edd. Sure, he’s safe and under watch, but he needs to see him. He just learnt that someone might just possibly be coming after his best friend and that should be a good enough reason to just fucking leave for _fuck’s sake_ and stop giving in to doing _stupid_ stupid decisions that all just so happen to revolve around that bloody idiot he shouldn’t— _doesn’t_ even care about.

What the fuck, and why the actual _fuck_ , is this even a choice?

“Shit.” One step down.

“Shiiit.” Two steps down. “You need to see Edd. And Matt. You need to see them.” He couldn’t feel more mad at himself for being such an indecisive—

…fuck.

“Tom. You need to…to…”

_Edd and Matt aren’t going anywhere._

“…bloody hell.”

Tom pulls out his cracked phone.

_Compose Message_

_To: Commie Shit_

_We need to talk._

_-Tom_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh boi tord's coming home?? Gurls gotta prepare kleenex next chaptur. no, not smut(sorry too early for that), but still. trust me ;)
> 
> I need feedback on this chapter. Or actually this story in general because i worry that you guys might be feeling off track with how messy i write and how much i focus too much on tom's thoughts. There's an explanation for everything I promise, but still it'd help me out a lot to know what you guys currently think.  
> With that see you guys in two-three days!  
> (song recommendations work too k bai)


	8. Nightlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Harassment(?) and Tord says the homophobic f word like once.
> 
> I TRIED TO GET THIS OUT YESTERDAY BUT IM JET-LAGGED AS FCK FORGIVE MEH  
> Have this chapter as my compensation.  
> Enjoy!

_“Turn your life into the latest technological advancement—“_

Switch. “Lame.”

_“My dog? Well of course I love my dog—!”_

Switch again. “Lame.”

_“Do you like pork? Do you like soda?”_

“…what?”

Before he could gain interest, Tom shuts off Edd’s TV and groans into his hands, sprawling himself across the couch. He buries his face into the cushions, groaning some more, twisting and turning until he couldn’t take it anymore and turns the TV on again. It takes an excruciatingly longer time for it to turn on than it takes to turn it off, and it would have sent Tom reeling if he hadn’t already done it the first four times.

Contrary to popular belief(and by popular he means his friends), Tom’s actually not that into TV. He used to be—when all the shows that played had actual effort and awesome storytelling put into it. Now he can’t say all shows are bad, but good shows nowadays are definitely a minority. Edd and Matt don’t mind, watching anyway despite the usual “this show sucks” comment that they mutter more than a few times during a show. When they do watch is the only time Tom joins them, more for their company than the obvious CGI effects that Matt seems to gush over.

He turns the TV off, then on, then back again.

The same process has been repeated for quite some time now, and Tom is bored out of his fucking mind.

Another weird commercial plays and Tom has long since tuned it out, positioned to stare at the ceiling while his legs lay propped up on the other side of the couch. He waits to see how long he can stretch out the silence in his head any further before finally, he awkwardly puts his arm in an uncomfortable position as he took his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and brings it up to his face.

What he’s met with is…absolutely nothing. Well, not really _nothing_. There’s the time, which presents itself as 6:45pm. That last time he saw it was 6:17, and 5:45 before that—and so on. Obviously, he’s not exactly fond of it, like an annoying old friend moving on as forward as ever(quite literally), and what irritates him more is the constant reminder that comes with it, which is:

  1. How Tord hasn’t replied to his message that’s been sent at least four hours prior.
  2. How Tord hasn’t come home even after Tom’s sent his message at least four hours prior.
  3. How Edd must be so fucking confused when Tom called to ask if he was okay(with a voice equivalent to that of Matt asking for a cookie before dinner).
  4. How Tord still hasn’t fucking replied like what the actual fuck.



Tom shakes his head, though the undeniably large chunk of frustration swimming around in his chest is not exactly the best wingman to his new (questionably) mature persona. He has been on this goddamn couch for who knows how fucking long, and the fact that he could finally feel the dim light on his face that’s radiating off of his cellphone and the TV lighting up what it could of Edd’s room is not helping. Tom’s trying to keep up his determination to wait, he really is, but when it’s finally come to a point where he could feel himself dozing off to the sound of catchy tunes from a soap commercial, and not the sound of someone coming home, he finally thinks to himself…just how much he wants to shank a communist.

He closes his eyes and lets his arms fall limp by his sides.

As he slowly drifts into unconsciousness, Tom thinks he hears the TV abruptly announce the words “Breaking News!” and the color red, before he slips completely into sleep.

* * *

 Tom wakes up to Ringo pawing at his cheek.

He stares at her, eyes widening. The moment he moves to get a better grasp of his body Tom instantly feels dry, like the seventy percent of water that made up his body drained out of him while he was…blacked out. That’s what causes the confusion floating around in his head, as if he really wasn’t awake yet if not for Ringo’s constant poking. He looks around, the room dimly lit by the moonlight coming through the hole on Edd’s wall from the cola room’s window. The TV was turned off, which Tom thought was strange till he realized the remote was sitting comfortably on his chest, and Ringo must have stepped on it during his sleep.

Tom realized he hadn’t thought that way in a while, referring to it as sleep rather than dreaming, as he had been strangely submitting to the past week.

That dream in particular, the one of him in a paralyzing void of nothing but a TV and a couch much like where he is now…it didn’t come this time—and Tom’s sure of it. It felt just the same as before the first one came, how he’d drift to sleep and find himself awake moments later with nothing in his head to fill the gaps in-between. He brings a hand up, supposedly to push Ringo off of him, when he realizes said hand is still holding his phone, his fingers surprisingly tightened around it. He brings it up to his face and winces at the sudden brightness attacking his eyes, the light blurring his vision for a moment before he could finally comprehend the numbers on his screen as he squints at it.

12:29am.

Holy shit—he just slept through the entire evening.

Not that this would normally bother him(as if he had anything better to do anyway), but last he remembered, he was waiting on a person he didn’t particularly (strongly)  like as a result of choosing said person over his best friend, who is very likely _fingers-closing-on-each-other-to-a-pinch_ close to the face of danger all because of advice he got from a fucking _repairman_ and…long, long story short, Tom’s pissed as hell.

Tom wills himself to sit up as he went past his lock screen, fingers frantically maneuvering their way around his phone—to his empty inbox, his phone log devoid of missed calls—hell, he even went as far as to check his email. With nothing more to do Tom just repeatedly switches between apps and refreshing them over and over, as if it’ll help dissipate the bubbling anger at having wasted his time on…on Tord.

Of all fucking people, it had to be _Tord_ who he’s waiting on(who yet still has to come home, by the way), and all he was hoping to get out of it was a fucking _talk_.

And even better! Talk about, _what_? He isn’t even the least bit sure. _Fuckity woo_ , as Edd once said.

Great, now he’s torn between being mad at himself and at Tord—he shakes his head. He’s mad. Angry, irritated, annoyed, fuming…other synonyms close to that. Period.

Tom slams his phone into the cushions beside him and, struggling not to grit his teeth, lets out a deep and very much needed exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, face finding its way into the palms of his hands.

He’s seriously seething with annoyance, but above it all, he’s really…really tired. Tired of being angry(and all those synonyms), of worrying for Edd, and for…waiting.

After a brief moment of silence Tom stands up(picking his phone up), groggily walking out of Edd’s bedroom. He enters the main hallway and stares blankly into their(his) room door and Matt’s, trying to remember which he’s on duty for the night and decides “fuck it”, entering Matt’s room only to stop and stand by the door.

He shakes his head, blaming it on the sleepiness and goes over to set up Matt’s night light when he pauses again. Unsure of what he was doing, the brit doesn’t realize how he’s been waiting for the phone to give some sort of chime until it still doesn’t, and the sound of the front door opening immediately catches his attention.

Tom freezes when he hears the door he just closed creak open, facing it to find none other than the person he’s been waiting for.

When eyes fell on the other, Tord’s voice broke the silence that followed, accompanied with a smirk that was half lit by the window down the hallway he was technically still standing in.

“Oh, look who’s here.”

Tom hasn’t seen him for only a few days, but it felt exactly like when he saw him for the first time in nine years, and when he once again saw him 2 months after that—surprised, bewildered, shocked.

Angry.

“Like you’re one to talk.” Tom says, voice unintentionally laced with venom. He doesn’t regret it though. The smirk on Tord’s face morphs into more of a lazy smile, stumbling into the room and clearly choosing to ignore Tom’s presence. The brit just watches as the guy plops down into Matt’s bed, rolling around a few times before stopping. Tom raises a brow.

He doesn’t move from his spot, eyeing Tord as if he was expecting something from him. This was the guy he’d been losing his mind over for the past week, the guy he hasn’t fucking seen in days despite living in the same goddamn apartment, the guy he’s supposedly decided to confront—yet here he is, face down on Matt’s way-too-fluffy mattress, unmoving. Fucking seriously?

Tom doesn’t stand up until he feels his legs starting to go numb from crouching for too long, sighing in agitation and trudging over to Tord when the familiar scent of alcohol hits him so strong that he brings his hand up to his nose.

Tord’s scent, smoke and cinnamon, mixed with what smells like Bacardi and whiskey is so strong that it wafts its way around his fingers and it attacks him again, making him reel back a little more than he intended. Tom made a noise, something similar to a grunt that makes Tord shift his head to the side and look at him over his shoulder.

“W’at?” He slurs. It was then that Tom finally notices how thicker his accent is than usual and, though questionable, the flush covering the majority of his face that Tom somehow overlooked.

“You’re—you’re drunk.”

Tord snorted, but doesn’t reply to that.

Tom comes closer to him, his confusion getting the better of him. “I…thought you hated alcohol?”

“Di’ I?” Tord shifts his head again to face away from Tom, but the brit caught the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Didin know you knew me tha’ well, Thomas.”

He didn’t. He just overheard him and Matt talking about it last month, how the ginger found Tom’s Smirnoff to be “quite the fascinating flavor” when he mistook it for a milk carton(how he did, Tom didn’t know). Tord had simply scoffed and replied, _“Pretty interesting alright, up until you feel the bile rising up your throat and the gears in your head start mimicking construction workers in the morning.”_ Though he wasn’t really wrong, the comment stuck with Tom like an itch he couldn’t shake off for the rest of the day(and that, he didn’t know why either).

An uncomfortable silence(at least to Tom) fills in for the midnight chill and Tom finds it in him to speak up.

“…you’re shitfaced.”

“No shit.”

He swallowed, hesitance in its wake before he decides to ask, coming outright, “I texted you?”

Tom felt like groaning when Tord looks at him before turning away again. Like he was being a fucking nuisance. “Didin saw.”

“What?” Tom asks in bewilderment(at the use of grammar), but it went unnoticed. Tord was too busy not giving a shit, apparently, and it was starting to get on his nerves again. “We were gonna…talk? I sent you a message at like, fucking noon.”

“…”

The brit reminisces wanting to shank him. Jesus Christ it’s like talking to a fucking wall—and Tord’s acting more like he’s stoned than drunk and suddenly all the thoughts of making fun at him for it aren’t as funny as they used to be.

Tord still doesn’t say anything, just laying down in front of him, breathing heavily, but Tom knows he’s not even close to sleeping. This dude snores like a pig, and they share a room together. Before he _does_ go to sleep and leave Tom in the murderous state of mind he’s in, the brit immediately tries to think up of something to say, the question he’d been meaning to ask the entire week slipping out of his mouth like a traitor that’s just been waiting to escape.

“Where _were_ you?”

At this, Tord turns his head to him again and stays there, his dazed eyes glistening despite the darkness(save for Matt’s nightlight) surrounding them. “Too many fuckin’ questions for a drunk man to handle, don’t you think?”

Now Tom’s really fucking tired of everything.

He lets out a ragged breath in defeat, frowning down at Tord in distaste. The change of expressions seemed to spark the drunk guy’s attention, and Tom takes this opportunity to speak, “Look, I don’t even fucking care anymore you shit. It’s my turn to sleep here today, but since you’re being a hell lot fucking more of a pain in the ass than usual, fine. Stay here. I’m taking our room for the night, and you can no longer do anything abou—“

Tom doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because suddenly Tord has him gripped by the wrist.

Suddenly he’s being pulled like a rag doll.

And suddenly, he’s on the bed.

And he’s right fucking under him.

Tom shrieks when he fully registers the situation, heat spreading throughout his face. He’s pinned down—Tord’s hands are holding his arms above his head, and his legs are somehow stuck motionless under the weight of Tord’s thighs. Tom struggles against the position, but he was only met with futile attempts. Tord was a whole lot stronger than usual, an unfamiliar use of force that Tom has never encountered from him even when they’ve fought each other over and over, and fuck if it doesn’t bewilder the shit out of him. It leaves him out of breath, confused out of his fucking mind and he looks up at Tord in what he could only comprehend was horror.

And the bastard is fucking smirking.

“What the hell?! _Tord_!” The latter watches Tom writhe under him, desperately trying to move out of his grasp. “ What the fuck do you think your’re—Get off of me you fucking—!”

“Успокойся, маленький кролик.” Tord says in what sounds like amusement, and it does nothing to calm Tom’s nerves whatsoever.

He scowls up at him with every ounce of fury he could muster. _“What?!”_

“Thought ya wan’ed to talk, hm?” Tord muses as he brings his face closer to Tom’s. The man growls, forcing his head up in attempt to break Tord’s nose but the man backs away quickly. Clearly, this piece of shit knows what he’s doing, and he’s taking delight in Tom’s suffering. The fact that Matt’s lumpy mattress seems to be burying him deeper into the bed seems to only make things feel worse than they should be.

“You sick fuck.”

Tord scoffs. “Rude.”

“You have the fucking _nerve_ —“

The man shushes him, “Relax, would ya? Not like I’m out’a fuck you.”

That shuts Tom up and his face screams pure rage and terror. Tord rolls his eyes. “Dude, what di’ I just say?”

“Get. Fucking. Off of me.” Tom says with finality, his eyes sharp and disgusted. When Tord doesn’t budge, he resists the urge to spit at his face when he could just so easily do it at this given moment. In fact, he contemplates whether to actually do it and gathers some spit in his mouth when he notices that Tord’s staring right at him, his eyes boring into his, and Tom swallows, feeling himself freeze right to the core.

The blood in his legs and arms must’ve finally retreated, because he couldn’t fucking feel them anymore. Tom wants to break the eye contact to hiss at the discomfort of not feeling his legs, but unless he want’s Tord’s lips to make contact with his ear then he’d rather stay like this than anything. Actually, scratch that—he’d rather be _anywhere else_ right now than anything.

He does however break eye contact anyway, only to look once again at the fading scars that decorates the right side of Tord’s face and he winces. Upon closer proximity he could clearly see the outline of each scar, the differences of each one varying in sizes like a slightly more distorted version of a zebra’s skin, and he slowly looks from the bottom right up to Tord’s right eye that has yet to look away from him. And there it is, the cloudy look, as if it was—

“Yer awf’lly quiet.”

Tom rolls his eyes, his scowl coming back at full force though he’s stopped struggling since then. “What’d you expect asshole?” It comes out as something similar to a pant, and he realizes how heavily they’ve been breathing, the air between them mixing together and fuck the smell is hitting him right on the nose again. He makes a face of repulsion though he doesn’t exactly feel repulsive, just uncomfortable, scrunching up his nose in disgust. Tord watches him intently as Tom blurts out, “T-This is pretty disgusting, you know.”

What Tom clearly didn’t expect was for Tord to suddenly start laughing.

It wasn’t a quiet laugh either, rather a rambunctious one as the fresh breath of alcohol and smoke repeatedly hits Tom in the face. He doesn’t really understand and when Tord cracks open an eye to look at his confused expression, he only seems to laugh harder. “What’s so funny, dick?”

Tord sputters out a few more chuckles before he calms down.

“As if you don’t like it.”

Tom’s eyes widen at him, considerably so that it widens Tord’s as well, but in hilarity. “Excuse me?!”

“Ya heard me.” Tord’s smirk returns to his face as he once again brings it closer to Tom’s, the brit somehow wishing he could sink even further into the cushions. “You like it when I pin you down like this, don’t you? _Fag_.”

_What the fuck is happening here?!_

Tom could only manage to look at him in complete and utter disbelief, trying again to get a grasp of his limbs but ultimately failing. Panic was rising up in his chest, and he has since lost track of his emotions a long time ago.

“What are you—“

“Nothin’, am just messin’ with’ya. Tell me though, Jehovah, you’ve been thinking abou’ me a lot lately haven’t you?”

Hit the nail right on the head, but Tom would never admit that. Not in a million years.

“Tord, you’re fucking delusional aren’t you?” Tom could feel the strong warmth spreading across his face betray whatever he has to say. Whatever, Tord’s drunk, he could only pray he remembers nothing in the morning.

Tord conjures up a lazy shrug. “Far from it.”

“Then stop fucking with me!”

“Me? Fucking with you?” Tom saw something in the Norwegian snap, and this time it’s Tord who gives him a look of disbelief. “Am sorry Thomas, but you canno’ just go an’ blame other peop—ple like that. You’re the only one fuckin’ with yourself.”

Tom looked at Tord as if he was crazy, or in fact crazier than he’s already supposed to be. “Am I? Am I _really_?” About this point Tom had run out of fucks to give completely. A good, civilized talk be damned—there’s nothing else Tom wants to do right now but choke this drunk bastard to death. “Who was the person that nearly killed us, huh?!” Tom spat, “Not exactly the most mind-fuckery thing there is, but it’s there isn’t it? You can’t run from that!”

Tord rolls his eyes sarcastically. “Is that seriously yer only arguement?”

“It’s the only argument I need you sicko!” Tom wheezed at the last part, having ran out of air but he didn’t care. “They _trusted_ you, and you came back with ill intentions. You didn’t just fuck me up, you fucked them up! Do you even have _any fucking idea_ how much you crushed them?  You almost _killed_ us!”

“You almost killed me too,”

“Oh, like _that_ cost you anything.”

Tord looked offended. “It did.”

“Prove it.” The brit whispered. Tom didn’t really know what he was trying to gain, taunting a drunk man while he’s being pinned down without means of escape. What he does know is that Tord is drunk enough to talk like this, to stop hiding behind his stupid façade for once and he might just get something out of it.

“Prove just how fucked up you are, Tord.”

It was silent for a moment, something glinting at Tord’s eyes as the brit held his ground, staring back just as pointedly. It took a minute, then the norsk sighs.“…alright.” Tord cleared his throat. “Let’s role-play.”

That came out of nowhere.

Tom gets caught off-guard, mouth opening and closing rapidly. “U-Uh—erm—what?” Role-play? That doesn’t sound great. Where exactly is Tord going with this?

“Come on, ya play me. Give it yerr best shot, or I ain’t lettin’ you off without a fight.”

Tom glares at him and clears his own throat. He tries to think of something as his eyes flicker around the room, then he looks Tord dead in the eye, “Classic…stupid Tom.”

“Oh?” Tord laughs. “You’re probably right, Tord almighty.”

“Are you supposed to be playing me? Cause that doesn’t sound like me.” Tom frowns. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

“Just continue. Introduce yerself.”

Tom doesn’t understand how it came to this. Really, how funny it must be for his past self to think that he might ever end up in a situation like this—but it’s happening. He’s been pinned down, by Tord for fuck’s sake, and they’ve been in this position for who knows how long. He just wants to feel his limbs again, but he can’t and what was supposedly a heated discussion became, what, a role-play? Of all fucking ways the universe could have thought of, this what it came up with?

He’s just about done. Tom breathes out from under Tord, an impression coming into view, “Hey uh—I’m Tord Lantsov, I like hentai and making stuff.” Tord rolls his eyes at the vagueness of it but Tom continues, “I um…I moved to England when I was five with my adoptive parents. I went to ASDF Elementary School, where I met my…friends. We grew up together until eventually we moved to a house of our own. It was nice and full of fun shit that never seemed to end…until I left.

“I came back nine years later, and because my friends are stupid, they welcomed me back.” Tord watches him intently, and Tom could feel himself swallowing, “Except Tom. Tom hated my fucking guts, even more so when he supposedly killed me after I tried to kill them—but hey, there I am two months later. Alive and well, showing up at their new doorstep, and welcomed again. It’s stupid really. Really, really stupid. Tom hates me a lot and is staying strong every day. Well, only because I’m evil, certainly something I seem to laugh about a lot.” Tom paused, seemingly out of things to say when, “Oh, and I like decaf coffee like a complete loser.”

Tord chuckles, and something simmers in Tom’s chest that makes him let out a small laugh as well. It’s so fucking ridiculous, considering the position they’re still in.

“You know you pretty well,” Tord muses, then suddenly, “But you missed something. You’re also a piece of shit.”

“Ha, yeah I am—wait, what?” Tom blinks. Is he still roleplaying as Tord?

“Worthless.” Tord murmurs, his cocky expression softening down to a blank stare, “Trash. Complete garbage. _No wonder you’ll die alone_.”

Tom shudders at Tord’s tone, almost as if it’s completely wrapped by death and hatred itself. It came out too sudden-he couldn’t even begin to comprehend what the man was saying, too confused out of his mind to bother with giving a response. He settles with spreading his lips into a thin line, and Tord continues talking, “Did you really think you could pull it off? Always planning, always changing yourself as if it does anything significant, always _wanting_ and never taking. Yet your efforts come in vain anyway, you gave in too much. Too fucking much. Trash. Безнадежный.”

Tord lets out a laugh at the last part, quieter this time, and though it took Tom a while he knew that Tord’s words weren’t meant for him. Still he feels the grip on his limbs tighten, the sweat dripping down the side of his face caused by Tord’s warm breath, the purple dim of Matt’s nightlight glowing against the side of Tord’s face that wasn’t scarred.

It wasn’t clear, but the small, glistening tear that flows down Tord’s flushed cheek is unmistakable.

“Quite hypocritical of me isn’t it?” Tord whispers, and he just smiles, the kind that doesn’t reach a person’s eyes but somehow Tord gives the illusion that it does. “Sorry Thomas, but I’ll be putting your efforts in vain as well.” Tom finds it in himself to curl up his unmoving hands to fists, his eyebrows having been raised up too long that he feels it when they burrow down into his temple. His thoughts run wild, trying to make sense of what Tord meant about ‘efforts’ when the clutch of Tord’s hands around his arms loosen ever so slightly. He doesn’t look, but he’s once again reminded that Tord is still  wearing gloves, and realizes the grip on his right hand doesn’t feel…natural. In fact now that he thinks about it fucking hurts a ton and it probably bruised and—

“I’m doing you a favor, after all.” There it is again. It’s as if Tord’s slowly losing himself and Tom honestly doesn’t know what to do about it, “По крайней мере, они счастливы, so there ain’t no use for me to…fuck it.” Tord laughs again, but this time it’s bitter and more than just a little sarcastic, “держи мой мир навсегда I guess.”

Tom couldn’t take it anymore, “Tord, just what the hell are you talking about now?” he hisses silently, his focus divided between Tord’s words and slowly wriggling his arms out of Tord’s grasp. He doesn’t know how to not be obvious about this, and in a sudden rush of panic he starts running his mouth. “You know, all this bullshit is in your head. I don’t know about you but I’m really fucking confused here, and would really appreciate it if you get off of me now. It’s gone on long enough and you’re drunk. Whatever this shit is that you’re saying will all be forgotten in the morning, so then we can have a nice and normal english conversation five feet apart from each other. Alright? Come on get up and—“

“Tom.” There’s a glint in Tord’s eye, Tom gulps because that can’t be good. His arms are nearly free, just a little more goddamn it.

“What is it?”

Dipping his head down, Tord closes the distance. “Shut the fuck up.”

At this very moment, he’d like to say Tord’s lips didn’t even get close to his just as he managed to break free and knock him out unconscious.

But he'd be lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hear ya'll running for that google translate tab ;)  
> Anyone okay? Still alive? Hope I didn't rush that ending too much.  
> FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED LIKE YA'LL ARE SWEET
> 
> #PROTECCTOM2018 guys. lets make it happen


	9. A Bad Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely hope you guys paid attention to Tord's dialogue.
> 
> AND GUYS. This amazing writer by the name of MaxAtCultCamp69(check out her story if you havent yet i swear its great) made awesome fanart for me, and the tag used on insta was #tensionao3 so if ya'll have art to share(and i'm completely honored if you do) use that! so yah. Thank you to every kudos and comments, they bring me life and is what keeps this story going :D
> 
> Enjoy!

_He’s here again._

_Tom stares ahead, not quite there with how hazy and unreal his state of mind currently is, but with that thought alone he immediately recognizes it—the same feeling, experience…the dream he’s been having for the past week. Him sitting on a couch in kid form, inside a dark void, with nothing but himself and the all-familiar TV playing a few feet ahead of him. He’s grown familiar of it, and he doesn’t really know how he feels about that._

_The TV isn’t playing commercials this time, however. Instead the scene shows a place of patchy grass and numerous swing sets, all surrounding four figures on the screen, passing a soccer ball around. Tom’s vision struggles to keep up with their constant motion, their echoing laughs and banter of who gets to kick to who, and the funny looks sent to them by people who pass by. They look happy, and maybe it’s the effect the dream’s having on him in general, but it’s contagious. He feels himself smiling at their antics despite not really managing to differentiate their features from distorted images._

_Tom watches as one of them trips, chuckling when the other three laugh before going up to him and giving him a group hug, then suddenly perching him up on their shoulders and parading him around the playground. He feels his small hand slapping his small thigh as he bends over in a fit of giggles._

_What surprises him though, is when he hears laughter coming from both sides beside him._

_He surprises himself even more when he looks to see Edd and Matt sitting beside him, suddenly going motionless, as if they were stopped by his acknowledgement of their presence. Tom tries to talk but then realizes he can’t, his throat feels too tight. There it is, the growing haze to signal the dream’s end._

_He looks at the TV just as it’s about to shut off again, the image of the boy that’s being carried having no eyes floating at the back of his mind._

* * *

 

Tom doesn’t wait till he wakes up to jump off of whatever he was laying down on.

He immediately puts his hands up in a stance, his eyes sharp, as if he’s about fight a bear.

He momentarily forgets the fact that he didn’t find himself waking up from his bed. Still, the adrenaline doesn’t die down even when his eyes rake over the entirety of his surroundings, searching every nook and corner for…for something. Someone. Someone dangerous.

Someone that kissed him.

_Holy shit he kissed him._

_Holy mother of chinaware on a fucking gremlin he was fucking kissed._

_BY TORD._

“Holy…fucking…shi—“

Tom subconsciously staggered back, resulting into him tripping over a bottle before the panic rising in his throat could threaten him any longer.

But it’s there.

It’s still there even as he calms down on the cold, hard floor, struggling to breathe through it.

There even as he slowly looks up to find himself body flat by the counter of the cola room, the culprit for tripping him lazily rolling in front him signifying that it’s completely empty.

There even as the crash of his accident seems to cause the emitting groan coming from the room on the other side of the hall.

And Tom realizes that it’s not actually panic when he quickly rises up to his feet and immediately slumps himself over the sink, retching like a college girl that’s desperate to get rid of the bile in their throat. He tries to cuss, the only form of self-communication he could use to cope at the moment, but is instantly cut off by his own gagging every time—that, and trying to swallow huge groups of air into his lungs in-between as well.

A few moments later comes the voice he’s been dreading to hear.

“Why…am I not surprised that you’re already puking before I am?”

If Tom wasn’t busy doing said activity, the squeak that came out of his mouth would have been clearly evident.

Still he manages to make a displeased grunt before resuming to spill the contents of his stomach. He could hear the scrunch of Tord’s nose(and the obvious hangover) dripping out of his tone from behind him when he says, “Gross, jehovah. Not on the sink. We’ve got three toilets in this apartment, use any of them you uncultured swine.”

Tom grabs a nearby tissue and aggressively wipes his mouth. “Piss off commie shi—“ He was about to say as he turns around, but stops when his gaze locks with Tord’s slumped figure leaning against the doorway.

From his bedhead, to his squinting eyes, to his lips.

_The lips that touched his._

He quickly spun back around as a new wave of nausea exits his mouth.

_Fucking hell._

“Jesus Thomas.” Tord sighs when the latter only flips him off in response. He stares for a moment, waiting for Tom to finish. When the brit finally washes his face and wipes himself off with another tissue, he reluctantly turns around, awkwardly leaning against the counter to face in Tord’s direction. Still, he’s intent on not making eye contact, and it’s painfully obvious that he is. “Do I really look that fucked?”

Tom flinches and tries to compose himself, (not-so)casually crossing his arms. “You—uh, what?”

“When you saw me, it’s like you saw a ghost or something.”

“The puke.” Tom says, almost immediately. “It was the, uh, the um—“ His eyes darted around the floor until he found what he was looking for and points. “That. That thing—bottle—over there I uh, you know, as per usual.” He shrugs as nonchalantly as he could, gaze burning into the floor.

So that’s where he slept through the night. Tom stretched his neck at the thought. He vaguely remembers…oh, it’s not vague.

He remembers running away, scrambling through the fridge, and _“these have really been easier to open lately”_ being his last rational thought before he attempts to give himself alcohol poisoning very, very clearly. It plays back in his head perfectly, a completely solid memory for a guy who just got violated by a communist.

Tom clears his throat.

“Alright…?” Tord scratches his head, yawning a little before he says, “Long time no see huh?”

Tom’s eyes immediately snapped back to his, startling Tord a little. “What do you mean? You went home last night.”

Tord’s brows raise, “And you were awake?”

Tom struggled to keep his nod firm, and not vigorously. Tord blinks, as if in surprise. “Oh, shit. I don’t remember anything.”

_…fuck._

“Really?”

“Yep.”

Tom scratches his neck, almost aggressively. “Are you sure?”

Tord’s sleepy eyes squint at him, “Why? Something happen?”

_YES YOU DUMBFUCK—_

“Nope.”

“You’re looking at me as if something did.”

_THAT’S BECAUSE SOMETHING DID HAPPEN YOU SICK SON OF A BIT—_

“Nothing.” Tom waved it off, with a clear air of finality. “You were drunk. You took Matt’s room. Honestly I don’t remember much since I was pretty drunk too, as you’ve witnessed.”

 _Which is not really a lie, but also technically a big fat lie_.

“Tom is lying senses are tingling.”

“It’s the hangover.”

“Ya sure?”

“Indubitably.”

Tom braces himself for Tord to keep pushing(because he really couldn’t think of anything else to blame except the hangover), but relaxes when he realizes Tord’s gone quiet. Although, he’s staring at him, and pretty much nothing else, which makes him tense up again.

“…alright.” Tord peels himself off the doorway and goes out of sight. “I’m going out now.”

…he’s what now?

Tom feels an array of emotions hit him all at the same time before he quickly follows after him, calling after Tord from the end of the hall before the man could exit the apartment. He already had his keys in hand, the other in his pocket, when he looks back at Tom in confusion.

“What is it?”

The brit’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes blinking rapidly. Tord raises a brow at his clear loss for words.

“We’re not gonna talk about this?” Is what Tom settles with. Tord furrows his brows for a moment before he realizes what Tom meant, gaze lowering down to the keys in his hand. Tom honestly doesn’t even know what he’s talking about—what happened last night, or the current state of their relationship as enemies (though Tord doesn’t even remember anything so it’s obviously the first).

 “You really don’t like me that much that you’re willing to let things stay this way?”

Tom tries to ignore the cringe that came from his own choice of words.

Tord doesn’t seem to notice, instead fiddling with the keys he’s holding with a troubled look on his face. Tom frowns, confused to see Tord with such an expression. For as long as he knew him, the man never seemed unsure of anything. Though Tom realizes he’s been seeing a lot of new sides to Tord lately, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that.

“I guess so.”

Tom snaps out of his thoughts when Tord resumes to leave, suddenly panicking. “Y-You do realize that you smell like shit?”

_He changed clothes, but what else am I supposed to say?_

“I changed clothes—“

“Where are you going?” Tom quickly cuts him off, forcefully ignoring his mistake. Tord finally lowers his hand, fully facing Tom with confusion(or agitation) clearly plastered across his face.

“Do I really have to tell—“

“Yes.”

“Why?”

 _I don’t know_ , Tom replies in his head. But he doesn’t say that. Instead he stares him down, and Tord stares back.

Their gazes lock for a solid ten seconds(which Tom counted in his head), before Tord sighs in frustration. Tom strangely feels like a mother trying to interrogate her son, and Tord probably feels the same way. It’s ridiculous.

“Bank.” Tord says, glaring at the ceiling. Tom doesn’t know what to reply so he stays quiet for a moment, watching as Tord’s expressions soften, though there’s still a small frown on his face that refuses to leave. When Tom silently asks him why, the frown twitches, almost coming back into full force then…it doesn’t.

Instead, he starts to look hopeless.

“You ask too many questions.” The norsk mutters under his breath as he once again tries to exit the apartment.

“You’re—“

Tom decides to cut himself off, but Tord stops. He turns to face him again, but this time he doesn’t look angry. Instead, he’s looking at him as if he’s had…enough—his eyes tiredly looking at him, as if to say “what is it?” like he’s never asked it the first time, paired with a small smile that looks a little too forced.

The exact same expression he wore before he kissed him.

Tom almost felt like it wasn’t his place to ask, but he did anyway.

“You’re coming back, right?”

Tord took a moment to answer, and that’s when Tom felt the sickening feeling in his gut churn.

“…yeah,” He quietly says, “I hope so.”

When Tord finally closes the door behind him, Tom’s left staring at it, a lone thought repeating itself inside his head.

_He hesitated._

* * *

 

“I didn’t know you liked TV.”

“Huh wha—?” Tom’s eyes flutter back to reality, head whipping around to look at Edd who’s comfortably laying down on the bed he’s leaning against. The latter’s looking at him with an amused look in his eye(the only visible one), and Tom cocks his head, “No, I mean—how did you know?”

“Not a secret, really. You always fall asleep halfway during movie nights, if not staring into the abyss of boredom.” Edd rolls his eyes, holding another can of cola. Matt makes a sound of agreement, reading a (children’s) book not far beside him. “Though I might be wrong.”

“What makes you say that?”

Edd points to the TV with his free(uninjured) hand, “You’ve been staring at that thing for centuries now. I was starting to get worried you’d burn your eyeballs—oh, but you don’t have any.”

“Shut it sweet tooth.” Edd rolls his eye(again) at the lame nickname, and makes a point to showcase the movement of his iris as they disappear into the back of his head. Tom makes a motion of rolling his own as if to pretend that he has any(which he often does, ironically), and Edd snorts.

“Anyway…” Edd’s tone softens back to serious, making Tom look away from him. “Are you waiting for something? I initially thought you were waiting for a cat videos compilation type of show—which is the only thing you watch, don’t even deny me—but I realized my mistake because…you’re staring at a 24/7 news channel. BBC? Really?”

Tom shrugs, fiddling with the remote on his lap, but he doesn’t change it. “Maybe…I don’t know, maybe someone ran over a cat? I mean, I’d like to add new people on my list to shoot at.”

“With wha—oh dear cola Tom don’t say harpoon gu—“

Tom cuts him off with a smirk. “The harpoon gun, yes. Don’t badmouth it, Edd. It’s an important member of this family.”

Edd groans. “Again, Tom. It’s not—NO, it’s _not_ and don’t even think of cutting me off again. Put that hand down. If anything or anyone is a part of this family, it would be Tord, and not that heinously expensive contraption that cost us our couches.”

Tom was ready to retort until Edd mentioned Tord and goes silent.

Edd doesn’t notice for a few seconds and quickly regrets it, looking to Matt for help…except the ginger already seems too invested in Dr. Seuss to even realize what’s going on. Edd scratches the bandages on his cheek in frustration, looking back down at Tom’s slumped figure beside his bed.

The brit stares down at the remote again, almost falling lost in thought when Edd decides to speak up, gently, “So…how’s the apartment? Everything okay?”

Tom nods.

“Um, how about Ringo? Feeding her well?”

Tom momentarily looks up at him. “Does cereal count as cat food?”

“I…guess?”

Then he looks back down. “Then yeah…she’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“…how about you and Tord?”

Tom stiffens.

“…don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Edd presses on, not content with his answer, though he doesn’t notice Tom’s shoulders progressively tensing up at his voice. “I just…it’d be nice to know how you two are holding up.”

Tom grits his teeth, but nonchalantly tries to say, “We’re fine.” He focuses his attention back on the TV, trying to process what the reporter was saying about cheese, but Edd keeps talking.

“You know, maybe it’s just me but, it really feels like you’re not telling me something.”

Tom laughs, sarcastically. “Is there?”

Edd nods in assurance, “Yep. Definitely. Tom is lying senses are tingling.” Tom tries not to snort at that, but he does.

“For the love of bananas Edd, we’re _fine_. Completely, honestly fine.  We haven’t fought or—you know what, we haven’t _fucking anything_. Absolutely _nothing_. We didn’t even have a nice, proper english conversation five feet apart from each other over a cup of tea which I’m pretty sure would have settled this entire fucking situation between us but _OH NO_ , nothing happened because _apparently_ one of us had better things to do and honestly , I don’t fucking care anymore. I’ve ran out of fucks to give, so, yeah. This conversation is over. We’re better than okay. Done.”

Is what Tom would’ve liked to say, except he doesn’t. Instead he says a bitter, “We’re okay,” and heightens the volume on the TV to get his point across to Edd, who only shakes his head in defeat and continues sipping on his coke.

Tom sighs a few moments after, not able to shake off the burning intensity of Edd’s stare. His eyes dart around—from Edd, to the ceiling fan, to the freakishly huge skeleton poster on the wall beside the door, then to the TV. He reads the running text under the reporter but not really absorbing it, so he begrudgingly shuts the it off.

The room’s completely silent now.

“…I don’t understand what’s so special about him…” Tom starts, barely muttering under his breath but Edd hears it clearly, nearly dropping his coke. He watches Tom unfold his thoughts beside him, his gaze soft as Tom lets out a frustrated breath, “He’s just—he’s—he’s Tord. The man that ruined everything for…us. I mean—he left, okay? He left us, for a really, really long time, and comes back to, what, trick us? Destroy the house? Obliterate what little trust we have of him left? All three, actually. Wish I was exaggerating but you know I’m not. And whoop-dee-doo, he comes back again and you just welcome him back again and christ I’ve said this so many times already but it’s true…” Tom shrugs, “He’s…Tord. I don’t like him, I don’t think I ever have, and now I firmly believe that I hate him and…it just baffles me that you guys don’t feel the same way.” He turns his neck to look over at Matt, who still seems like he’s reading his book intently, though the fact that it’s upside down is a dead giveaway. “…I don’t know, alright? Everything’s been so fucked up lately without you two—and shit, why am I talking about this right now?”

Tom looks into Edd’s eye, the both of them just staring at each other before Edd settles his coke down on the bedside table. He chuckles. “It’s kind of funny Tom.”

The brit frowns, a little bit offended of the reaction after he practically just let his frustrations out. “What exactly is so funny about this?”

Edd taps a finger on his lap. “You know…that you claim to hate him so much yet for some reason,” Edd looks at him pointedly, “it bothers you.”

_“Well, if it bothers you so much, then doesn’t that mean that what that person said is…probably true?”_

Tom’s lips stretches to a thin line, looking back down at his lap.

“I’m just…confused.” Tom settles, then groans. “Can we stop talking about this?”

Edd ponders over it for a moment, then nods, “Sure. But let’s talk about it again, someday.”

“Trust me, I’ve been trying to.” Tom repeats the motion of rolling his imaginary eyes, “But yeah…sure. Whatever.” Edd has already laid on his back again in content(he sat up when Tom started talking) when Tom adds, “If we ever come together in complete attendance. Who knows, maybe he’ll happen to come by here and we can conveniently have our chat.” Tom snorts, “If he’ll ever come visit, which he probably won’t.”

Edd sits back up, confusion in his tone, “He does come by for dinners though…?”

“Sure he does—wait what?” Tom turns to face Edd again, the sudden change of composure surprising Edd. “He visits you guys?”

“Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”

Tom stares at him for a moment, shock crowding his features, then suddenly stands up and grabs at a nearby chair, sitting down next to Edd. “How often?”

“Every…day?” Edd says slowly, then shakes his head, “Woah, wait. Are you telling me that you guys didn’t plan it?”

“Plan what?”

“Your visits.” Edd deadpans, as if saying ‘duh’. “I mean, you stay with us for like, the entire day, then when you leave it’s around six. Then around half past six to seven Tord comes around—wait seriously? You don’t—wow I’m confused.”

Tom nods, “Yeah, so am I.” He momentarily spaces out, thinking about how it would add up to Tord not being home when he gets home. But then… “Wait, so how long does he stay for exactly?”

“Until Matt falls asleep. Always a quarter to nine—sick Matt loses his insomnia habits.” Edd laughs, Matt grumbling beside him but quickly catching on to the topic, finally putting his book down.

“It’s actually not that bad to sleep early! I get to eat breakfast first.”

“Shut up.”

Tom cuts them off with a snap of his fingers, “What does he do when he’s here?”

“Nothing much. Just talk, or chill.” Edd shrugs. “He always comes in with food though. Unlike you, cheaphead.”

“Can I have that coke back?”

Edd quickly snatches the coke back from the bedside table. “Never.”

“Just continue.”

“Geez, you’re both so curious about each other it’s scary—okay don’t give me that look. Um…” Edd thinks for a moment, then his eye widens, “Oh! Get this. Like I said, he always brings us food for dinner right? But he only gets Matt’s order right. It’s irritating! I told him I wanted chicken wings, and Matt said he wanted a rib-eye, and the next night he gets us both rib-eyes! I mean seriously Tord is cool for bringing us good food in exchange for the gross hospital food, but it annoys me how he always gets Matt’s right. As if he’s ignoring mine on purpose.”

Matt cheerfully chimes in. “Who cares? I’m gettin’ good food and so are you! It’s what they call a winner winner right?”

“Win-win.”

“Whatever!” Matt reaches over and gives Edd’s shoulder a small pat. “Don’t be such a squirt about it.”

Edd crosses his right arm over his chest and he’s…pouting? Tom blinks, hardly believing what he’s seeing. It’s usually him who pouts and not Edd, so this is new.

“It’s not just with the food either...” Edd grumbles under his breath, and Tom could imagine his expression even under the bandages. “Tord always seems to pamper you…it ain’t fair.”

And then, something weird happens.

Matt smirks.

“You jealous?”

And then another weird thing happens.

Edd blushes. Even under the bandages, Tom knows he is. He’s seen him blush countless times in high school, and the look on Edd’s eye isn’t fooling him.

“WHAT? No I’m not—that’s—this is differe—!“ Edd then suddenly looks at Tom in a panic, as if he just noticed he was there, and looks back at Matt. He does that thing again with his right hand where he waves it in frantic motions, and Matt merely responds with a cock of his head.

“He doesn’t know?”

Okay, now something’s definitely up with these two.

Tom brings his chair closer to Edd’s bed and he leans against the side railing, exchanging glances between Edd and Matt, Tord forgotten. “Know what?”

“You don’t know?” Matt asks again, and when Tom shakes his head Edd literally looks like he’s about to explode. “I thought Tord told you? I mean we just told him last night so I thought—“

“ _MATT_.” Edd whines, and that shuts Matt up with confusion evident in his face, though it doesn’t even come close to the bewildered look on Tom’s.

“…last _night_?”

Edd seemed like he just had enough of everything, not acknowledging Tom’s sudden spike in curiousity. “Tom let’s not—Matt—oh dear candlepops we’re gonna have to tell him now aren’t we?”

“Your turn!” Matt throws himself under the covers. “I told Tord last night, so you do it!”

“Fine!” Edd sighs, and Tom’s ears perk up.

Except Edd doesn’t say anything. He tries to speak, but always shakes his head in embarrassment. It’s grating on Tord’s anticipation.

“What is it Edd? I’m not getting any younger here.”

Edd takes a deep breathe. “Tom.”

Tom nods.

“Me and Matt.”

“Yep?”

“We are—“

And then it happens.

His goddamn phone rings.

He doesn’t even have to look to know who it is.

“Eddie.” Tom greets with annoyance, and shakes his head when Edd looks at him questioningly. “It’s alright. He’s just—look I’ll take this so you can tell me after alright?”

As soon as Tom leaves the room he could swear he heard Edd’s gigantic sigh of relief. He grumbles under his breath as he fishes for the vibrating phone in his pocket.

_“Helloooo—“_

“What the fuck is it?” Tom snaps as soon as he hears Eddie’s obnoxious voice.

_“Oh, sorry there kid. Caught you in the middle of something?”_

“Yes. Kind of. I—“ Tom runs his free hand through his hair, glaring at the wall. He kicks it, but quickly regrets it as he hops on one leg.

“What is it? What do you want? Have you visited the apartment yet?” He quickly asks in annoyance when his gaze falls onto the center of the hallway.

_That’s where he saved a communist._

Tom shook his head, and instead chooses to occupy his mind with how flustered Edd had been. It was definitely weird—one of the weirdest behavior he’s seen of Edd up to date, and that’s saying something. Edd’s always weird, always goofing around, finding new ways to potentially kill everyone, but at the same time always acting as the mother hen. He’s not one to just suddenly get worked up in a conversation because he’s usually the one leading it, but this time…

_“…Tom? Kid. Helloooo?”_

“YesI’mHereI’mOkay.” Tom stammers out, clearing his throat when he’s met with silence, “I was just thinking…things.”

_“What kind of things?”_

“Get to the fucking point officer.”

 _“Okay! I was trying to but you weren’t listening.”_ Tom replies with a small groan, but doesn’t talk back. _“Anyway, I was just gonna tell you that we’re not visiting today. Or tomorrow. Next week, definitely, so mark your calendar for that.”_

Tom brows furrow down, as if it they could get any closer than they already are. “What? Why the sudden reschedule? That’s pretty stretched out considering you wanted to get this done yesterday.”

And also, it confirms that Tom did in fact waste an entire day waiting on Tord.

Goddamn it.

 _“Well, kid. Something’s come up.”_ When Tom doesn’t respond, Eddie rephrases, _“Something big’s about to happen.”_

Tom groans. “What is?”

“That’s—“

“I know. Classified. Blah blah. Just kind of want to know why you’re pinning importance on other matters rather than my boyfri—“

Eddie cuts him off, almost desperately. _“Look, kid, I’m gonna stop you right there. I know I had you rattled yesterday, but hear me out. There is some very important shit going on in here.”_

Tom pauses for a moment, thinking back to the conversation with Edd earlier, and that he still has something to say to him. Maybe this will make things quicker. Tom sighs. “Alright.”

_“Good. One, this is not classified at all. In fact, it’s all over the news, and I can’t even believe that you still don’t know what I’m talking about.”_

The brit leans against the wall closest to him, brows further deepening in confusion. “What?”

_“…you don’t watch the news at all do you?”_

“I’ve been trying to, but I have a life.” Tom shrugs, as if Eddie could see it, though he technically wasn’t lying on the first part. “What are you talking about?”

Eddie’s quiets down for a moment, and Tom nearly drops the phone the moment the words come out of the receiver.

_“The Red Leader’s Execution.”_

And that’s when Tom felt it.

For the first time in his life, his heart completely stops beating altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scream at me in the comments and maybe I'll update sooner ;)  
> No, seriously, I'd love to see what you guys think is gonna happen next because oh boi, told ya'll t'was gonna be a trainwreck.  
> im also insecure about this chap, i couldve written it better i think.
> 
> "The End Of The Fxxxking Eddsworld" is best fanfic. Go read it. Love it.


	10. Three Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oH? Ya'll thought you had it figured out? HA! THINK AGAIN SCHMUCKS.
> 
> Btw, summer just ended. me and betabitch just started school again so if i dont update as often, ya'll know why.  
> BUT DONT WORRY. I intend on keeping this updated because there's still so much i want to write.
> 
> EnJoY!

Tom can’t breathe.

It’s not entirely suffocating, but the shock on his face stays all the same. Unwavering, his eyes darting around the room as he struggles to find air—to make sense of what exactly he just heard.

Or if he heard it right.

He must’ve.

No, he couldn’t have.

Tord wouldn’t get caught.

 _Would he? No,_ did _he?_

Deep breathes. He’s been doing that a lot lately, and it’s proven to be quite ineffective considering how his damn chest feels like a vice. Maybe talking will help—nope. Still can’t fucking breathe for some fucking reason.

Then it happens. Tom covers the phone as he suddenly breathes in more air than he needs, in inconsistent motions, and it hurts. A fucking lot. And also Tord might have been caught, and he can’t summon up the ability to think straight and—

_What the hell’s happening?_

_“Kid? Are you still there?”_ Tom hears Eddie’s muffled voice under his hand, and he sinks down into the floor, taking the deepest breath he possibly could before replying.

“Y-Yes I’m here. Was just checking on E-Edd. Um. Sorry.” Tom says after he’s removed the hand covering the phone, trying not to sound way too damn shaky, but he was clearly failing. Now Eddie will notice and he will be suspicious and he’s starting not to breathe again—

_“What was that? Sorry, my subordinate talked to me just now.”_

“Nothing.” Tom immediately says, getting a bit more leverage on his voice after a huge sigh of relief. “Just…checked on my boyfriend, that’s all.”

_“Alright, hope he’s doing well. I promise kid, we will get on his case as soon as this is finished.”_

Tom swallows, then, not trying to sound too reluctant, asks, “About this Red Leader…execution? Did he get caught?” The brit halts and instantly rephrases to, “I mean, did you guys…finally catch him?”

What Tom didn’t expect was hearing Eddie say, _“We didn’t. Not exactly.”_ He hears him sigh, _“Not yet at least.”_

Tom felt a surge of hope in his chest and he hates how urgent he sounds, “What do you mean?”

_“He’s turning himself in.”_

And the hope dies a horrible death.

_What…the actual fuck?_

“What are you talking about? _How_? How are you so _sure_ that it’s even him?” Tom knew he shouldn’t be this concerned to the point that he’s aware of himself trying not to sound too loud, so he decides to be angry. So fucking angry it almost seems fake.

_“A letter was sent to the office last night. It was on the news. Seriously kid—“_

“Last night? What do you mean? What _letter_?”

_What the hell is happening?_

_WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?_

Tom’s right hand’s practically glued to clutching at his chest at this point.

 _“Eager aren’t you?”_ Eddie lets out an amused laugh and Tom panics a little, then relaxes. Thank goodness Eddie doesn’t seem to take him seriously enough to question his curiosity. _“You really want to know?”_

_Fuck yes._

“Yes, please.”

_“Okay then. So…two months ago, we got a letter. It was from the Red Leader with his stamp and signature on it, and it said that he’s planning to turn himself in, soon, and to just keep a look out. We thought it was a sick joke, considering how the Red Army’s been advancing even further even after we got it…but last night we got another letter. All it said was ‘I’m ready. Tomorrow at 7pm. Town Square.’ and had his signature on it._

_The letter was found dropped just outside the office after the security-in-charge lost coverage of the CCTV camera by the front desk. Much more compelling, no fingerprints were left behind, even though it obviously looked like it was sloppily written.”_

_His gloves_ , Tom immediately thought.

_“And it’s weird because the Red Army is in the middle of taking over Chicago in America, so it doesn’t really make sense that he’s all the way over here in Britain. But the signature is unmistakably—“_

“I gotta go officer.”

Eddie made a sound of surprise at the sudden declaration and was about to reply when Tom had already hung up. He knew it would make him suspicious, especially after that speech, but he didn’t care. His hands were trembling as he quickly opened a whole web of news sites and saw they were all covering the exact same thing. Tom breathes in as he clicked on a random news site, and he flipped his phone to landscape as the front page loaded their live coverage.

Tom felt for the TV remote in his pocket. He knew Edd and Matt would never move on from this, and would demand to leave immediately if he decided to watch with them around. Instead he further sinks into the wall, ignoring the looks of hospital staff and visitors passing by him as he waited for the stupidly slow wi-fi to load and _aha_ —!

The loading circle disappears and the screen morphs from black into an ongoing live coverage of the Town Square. A female reporter is talking at the bottom right, but Tom didn’t have to listen to her to take in what exactly was going on, to take in the scene being played that’s causing a growing weight in his chest.

The Square was crowded with spectators(there are children. Christ.), and in the middle of it all, he counted about twenty or so guards, spread out wide in a circle formation, all facing the center with rifles already perched up on their shoulders. He spotted a small silhouette at the top of the screen that looks like Eddie, standing just in front of the crowd, speaking to what seems to be another news outlet, but he couldn’t be sure with how little he looked with the overview of the shot. He brings his attention back to the men. At the center of their position is…a red spot. A red mark where the Red Leader…

 _Where_ Tord _gets shot the fuck down._

But before Tom could start heaving again, the thought immediately came through his head, and he shot up and that’s when he started heaving.

Because there’s still nobody standing on that red mark.

Tom instantly remembers their exchange this morning, how Tord hesitated about coming back. He knows it’s bullshit now, how he said he “hopes” to because the truth is he will come back. _He always has_. At least for a little bit—in fact, the brit breathes in at the chance that he’s probably already there, and that’s when Tom looks at the time displayed under the reporter. 5:49pm.

There’s still time. Tom shoves the phone back into his pocket.

His hand hovers above the doorknob to Edd and Matt’s room, hesitating if he should tell them about what’s going on or not, and decides with a hard swallow of guilt, slowly and silently opening the door only to halt when it’s barely a creak.

Tom sees through the small space he’s opened the door, his two best friends holding…hands. Or at least trying to—Edd’s arm is on the wrong side of the bed, but he reaches his right hand over his body just to reach Matt’s weak looking one, barely looking like he’s even able to hold himself up. But they’re doing it—as much as they’re able to while smiling at one another, and suddenly something seems to make sense to Tom that he still doesn’t fully understand.

About Edd. About Matt.

About Tord.

Tom suddenly feels more angry at him than he’s ever been, and it’s making it harder for what he’s about to do.

 _What_ is _he about to do? Save him?_

Tom doesn’t answer his own question. Not with words. Instead, he closes the door as quietly as he could, throws the TV remote as hard as he can into the other side of the hall, and he bolts.

* * *

 

The apartment door is slammed open by none other than Tom’s soaked shoe.

He stomps inside after he does, dripping wet and panting like crazy. The rain(that came out of nowhere) was a good distraction from running what seemed like a fucking mile, but he had to run up the stairs as soon as he arrived, and slipped on his own damp checkered sneakers more than once which meant he could’ve died long before Tord gets—

You know what, not right now. Just. Not.

“ ** _Tord_**!” Tom yells into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t take off his wet clothes, instead focusing on regaining a proper push and pull on his lungs and slowly walking forward. “Are you here?!”

He hears something clinking in the cola room, and before he knew it he surges forward.

“Tord you fucking asshole, who do you actually think you are huh?!” Tom furiously says as he once again slams open another door. “For fuck’s sake! You wouldn’t even talk to me and now you’re suddenly going to be—“

Tom cuts himself off the instant he realizes the person holding up the new windows with some tool in his hand is absolutely nothing close to Tord-looking.

“Heya, Tom…?” Yuu greets with usual cheer, but in a questioning matter, pausing in what he was doing to cock his head. Tom just blinks at him, then realizes his breathing is normal again. “I’m sorry? I was just finishing up—“

“Oh no no no it’s okay Yuu. I was—it’s not you. That I’m angry at. And wanna murk before anybody else could. So, um—“ Tom not-so discreetly punches the doorway, his knuckles wet from the rain making it slip, and Tom’s forehead collides with the hard frame. He dizzily brings up a hand to his forehead. “Shit. _Shit_!”

“O-Oh, is that so? I apologize.” Yuu slowly lowers the things he is holding, looking at Tom with a concerned look on his face, but the brit was too busy nursing his head to notice.

“Again, it’s not you, just—” Tom’s eyes snap open, and he abruptly looks at Yuu making the man jump a little. “Ho—how long have you been here?”

Yuu stares at Tom as if he has two heads, clearly trying to discern what’s going on with him, but he answers anyway, “Since…three? I worked on the wall a little and pretty much just putting finishing touches on the—“

“Okay, great. I get it. Did you hear anybody come home? Aside from me? Did you and Tord see each other? Was he here?”

Yuu’s eyes glisten, then he does another one of his cheeky smiles, “Oh, is he that roommate you were being problematic abo—?“

Tom holds a hand up. “I swear Yuu, stall any more and I think he’ll be more than just someone problematic.”

Tom quickly realizes what he just said as soon as he finished it, and looks up at Yuu in alarm. The other man’s eyeing at him weirdly, but doesn’t seem to look suspicious. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m in a hurry. A deep one.”

“Okay…” Yuu offers another smile before doing his thinking stance, then points up a finger, “Well! I remember now, I thought I was imagining it, but I thought I heard someone shuffling through the apartment earlier, so I went to go check. There was no one in the hallway, so I just went back to work.”

_There it is!_

Tom grips the doorway. “Earlier? Do you mean—?”

“About twenty minutes ago…I think whoever that was left. I wasn’t sure about those footsteps, but I did hear the door shut! So I assumed it could’ve been just the landlord or something,” Yuu finishes, hands on his hips, looking cheekily proud of himself. However, Tom had already turned to the hallway, crossing it to go to his(their) room.

_Tord could’ve thought it was Tom, so he made sure to avoid Yuu seeing him._

This occupies Tom’s thoughts as he unlocks the door, head instantly whipping around the room. The first thing he notices is a certain red hoodie spread out on Tord’s bed. The sight of it makes Tom’s stomach drop.

_He definitely came back, alright._

Tom forced his eyes back to looking at the rest of the room. It looked exactly as he left it this morning except…two, new painfully obvious looking things casually laid down on his bed.

Two envelopes. One thick-looking yellow envelope, and one normal one neatly placed next to each other, as if whoever put them there wanted it to look eerily proper enough for Tom to actually check it out. He warily steps towards his bed at first then realizes he has time to catch up to, so he practically leaps towards it and brings both envelopes up in his hands(but had to wipe them off first, so he wouldn’t get them wet).

He looks inside the yellow one first, and his eyes widen. Tom honestly felt his imaginary eyeballs jumping out of his sockets. The damn thing is _full of money_.

He counts each bill, coming up to…a hundred thousand pounds, exactly.

“Holy fucking shit.” Tom breathes out, mixed emotions swimming through his chest—shock, shock, confusion, anger(?), shock, surprise, shock.

He quickly looks behind it to see something written in Tord’s handwriting.

_“For those strings you wanted”_

_In what fucking universe do strings cost a hundred grand?!_ Is what Tom asks himself, instead of how Tord would even know he wanted strings in the first place, or why he’d ever give Tom( _TOM??_ ) a hundred fucking—

Tom’s head snaps up, realization coming up to him. He drops the money envelope back on the bed and stuffs the other in his pocket(silently hoping it doesn’t get soaked), and quickly exits the room to go to Edd’s.

He doesn’t bother to turn on the light when he enters, despite the gloomy atmosphere surrounding the apartment. He walks towards the bed, passing by the hole where Yuu spots him going past, waving a little from the window. Tom doesn’t have the time to wave back.

And when he finally stands by Edd’s bed, sure enough, there it is. The same yellow envelope, and a plain one again placed carefully next to the other. Tord must’ve put it there while Yuu went to check the hall.

Tom slowly picks up the envelope and _immediately_ notices how it’s twice as heavy as his, and flips it to read what’s on the back only to once again be caught in surprise, a much heavier one compared to discovering his enough to have his breath hitching.

“ _For a new home”_

The brit hastily opens the envelope and counts—about three hundred grand, at least twice the amount their old house had cost. The house that Tord himself actually bought for all of them to live in.

_Tord planned this._

Tom runs a hand through his hair, grabbing at it in frustration, because of fucking course Tord planned this. He _knew_ he was planning something, and now that it’s confirmed he feels completely fucking stupid that he hadn’t acted on it sooner. That he could’ve pushed more, gotten more from him than a stupidly disastrous drunken conversation, instead of avoiding him like the fucking coward he is.

_What the fuck is he doing this for?_

_“You, are the one thing in this entire universe that I don’t goddamn understand,”_ Tom had said to Tord the last time they fought. It feels like there’s an entirely new meaning to it now.

Tom blinks at the envelope in his hand once, twice, then he looks down over to the other one still on the bed.

It’s for Edd, obviously, but Tom’s curious, and it’s not like it’d really matter if he’s going to breach somebody’s privacy at this point. So he picks up the envelope, forcing the guilty feeling away as he brings out the letter from inside.

Except, there was only one sentence. It was almost as if either Tord couldn’t think of anything else to say, considering the small marks that made it look like he’d pressed the pen to it one too many times, or it is exactly what he wants to say, he just didn’t know how to put it. Either way, he got his message across in five mere words.

“ _Take care of him, Edd.”_

And then it hit Tom again. The nagging feeling he had at the hospital when he saw Edd and Matt holding hands. It’s on the tip of his fucking tongue when he realizes there’s still one other room he hasn’t checked.

Tom whips around and runs out to Matt’s room, the third door he’s slammed open since he got here.

_The nightlight’s still on._

He shakes his head. That’s not important right now. He instantly goes for the bed and finds Matt’s own set of envelopes, grabbing the plain one this time and practically ripping out the letter in a rush to take it out.

In the dim lighting of Matt’s room, Tom reads in Tord’s scrawny, little pointed handwriting, it wrote:

_“Matt,_

_I’m sorry. I know what I promised. I’m not breaking it, I’ll always be here._

_Edd and Tom will be here for you too, always._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_I’m writing this over and over because I know you’re probably crying. What I did by the time you read this, is not meant to hurt you._

_With this, all three of you will be safe._

_You’ll be safe.”_

Tom swallows at the meaning behind those words, though he couldn’t quite grasp it. Not yet.

The next few lines were erased with a heavy amount of correction fluid. But, Tom was able to make out the last line because it wasn’t properly covered, almost as if it was on purpose. It was in Russian. Tom nearly cussed in frustration when looking at the line hit him with a sense of familiarity, and after squinting his eyes trying to remember, it hits him.

_Holy crap…_

Tom knew what it meant—he saw that exact formation of letters and symbols before. He’s seen Tord write it before, on obligatory valentine cards to his past girlfriends, to his elementary teacher he used to have a crush on, on Edd and Matt’s birthday cards, and at the end of the notes for his graduation speech, that single line dedicating to his adoptive parents.

_“я люблю тебя”_

_I love you._

It clicked. It finally fucking clicked.

The chill in the room just grew a ton, the sound of the rain outside almost like static to Tom’s silence.

Tom dropped the letter, looking at the time on his phone. 6:40pm. His chest tightens again.

Deep breathes.

Deep breathes.

Holy shit.

He’s actually doing this.

Tom breathes in one last time, then backs up a step. Then two.

And before he knew it, he’s already in the cola room, gripping Yuu tightly by the shoulders, the repairman looking at him wide-eyed and confused and dropping the things he had been holding.

“Tom?!”

“Heya, Yuu.”

Tom looked down at the window beside them, seeing the faint row of cars lining up just on the other side of the road through the misty glass.

“You got a screwdriver?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's about to go down next chapter. Im expecting it to be veeeeeeery long, so sit tight loves.
> 
> just to clarify: this fic is TomTord. in case anybody started having thoughts of strangling me from that reveal. It'll be elaborated next chapter, so calm your tushes.
> 
> And tHANK YOU to everyone who's still reading this far! You guys have no idea how long I've been waiting to write this. Let me know your theories on how you think this is gonna go down, because oh BOI do i got plans.
> 
> peace out


	11. Yello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not a chapter. But I'll delete this and post it soon ;)

eY SO this aint a chapter. NO PLS DONT LEAVE okay wait you can but you know, read if ya want. The next chapter's coming soon and it's hella long, so yeah. Anyhow, read at le bottom if you feel like it.

Just wanted to say sorry if I can't update as much. Some of you peeps actually talked to me on amino(gosh golly guys) and politely asked about this, so I thought I'd give ya'll a proper answer. 

First off, yeah I know it's only been three weeks, but that doesn't mean it won't be the last time I can't update over a long period of time. School came crashing down on me like CRAZY, all these projects and research papers and crap. That jazz. It's been stressing me out that all I can do is sleep, eat, read, then die. Pretty much. Didn't come here to vent. Still, just a friendly reminder that:

1)Yes, I will finish this story. I'll never abandon this sweet child of mine. Besides, we haven't gotten to any of them goods yet if ya kno what i mean ;) (haHA no you dont)

2)No, I won't be able to keep up with weekly updates. But I won't let it get over about a month cause most of ya'll would probably be gone by then

3)Yes, this is TomTord. (and i mean it guys. sersly. so many of you asked about this)

4)Yes I agree that Matt is such a lovable character and I want to hug him forever

So, thats it.

Sorry if you thought this was an update, but it'll be out very soon. Like so soon you wont even realize and its my favorite chapter to write so far :)

Also, read the tags.

Also I'm deleting this when i update did i say that already. Sorry. Im sleep deprived.

Okie bye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki is best girl.


	12. It's Gonna Be Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom's a badass. Tord is confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyo sCHMUCKS. baCk at it again wiTh ThE wRitin zone
> 
> betabitch still hasnt betaed this because he busy too but he lookin into it tomorrow so too bad early birds here's the shit i call original. much crappier than usual but boi i enjoyed writing this one.  
> well, yep, here you go.  
> have fun.  
> Also heres a warning: chaos. yep.

Matt and Tord. Tord and Matt.

It has always been them, hasn’t it?

Looking back now, Tom wants to gut himself for taking it this long to realize, aggressively pressing on the horn when a car thought it was smart to overtake him. He ran a hand through his hair when he succeeded to get past the damn vehicle, back to the undoubtedly unacceptable speed he was going at before as his mind raked over one million realizations and memories, all at once— _Matt and Tord had the same tutor, Matt and Tord always ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, Matt and Tord got tattoos together on their ankles because of course they would. Tord never failed to make him laugh either. Matt cried the most when Tord left, even when he couldn’t remember what he was crying about._

Matt and Tord. Tord and Matt. Throughout all the ones he’d overlooked, this particular memory sticks out from the rest of them.

It had been the first day of fifth grade, and Matt and Tord transferred in at the same time.

Tom vaguely remembered that day—partially because it was the first time he’d gone to school without bringing tomee bear. He had cried that morning, as childish as that was, because he’d never gone anywhere without his precious toy and friend. Needless to say, it was a gloomy start to the day. He remembers Edd trying to cheer him up with a not-so-neatly drawn comic he made, but he also remembers his efforts being in vain.

He also remembers—mainly due to his impatience at the time—how class still hasn’t started for quite some time. His teacher had been standing by the door for a while, seemingly talking to someone(or something, she was looking down but was clearly trying to convince something somehow), and finally went back to the front after some time with a clap of her hands. She announced that there were two new transferees, and she looks to the door, her hands in a beckoning gesture.

That was when Tom’s memory lit up, bright as day, because not only was it the first time he’d seen one(maybe two) of the most important people in his life, it’s also the part he’s looked over for so many years now.

Matt first walked in the room with his big blue eyes and a cheekily(creepily) bright smile on his face, and Tord came in tow with him, their hands joined together.

He didn’t think it was important at the time, because what he had always remembered when he looked back on it was seeing the funniest, most embarrassed look on Tord’s face and laughing his ten-year-old ass at him in front of the whole class. Never once did he look back and wonder why exactly Tord looked so embarrassed, or why Matt had held his hand in the first place.

Now, he did. He did and he realized and he stomped his foot on the gas because for the life of him  _Tord is such a fucking idiot._

He gives a brief glance to the passenger seat beside him, the shiny metal contraption sitting on it gleaming back at him, and he almost laughs at the irony of it all.

But one thought stops him, his eyes darting to the clock on the dashboard.

_It’s no longer funny when you’re running out of time._

* * *

 

_Time’s up_  echoes in his head as he adjusts his helmet.

He looks down at himself, making the sure the badge is in place, the uniform properly buttoned, the belt tight enough. God he felt ridiculous wearing this again, but he couldn’t risk exposing his friends if anything ever went wrong. If he was gonna go it should be like this—as… _him_. The Red Leader. His left hand feels for his right arm, feeling the hard metal underneath the cloth. They don’t need to see this yet, or else they might think of him as even more of a threat despite the situation.

He sighs, clears his throat and walks forward from where nobody had noticed him yet.

The crowd then sees him almost immediately, stumbling throughout themselves to make way for him. It would’ve been flattering had it not been a path especially made for him towards his death. He takes in the various looks ranging from bewilderment to anger in the sea of people, scoffing silently behind his mask as he goes step by step. Before he can make it halfway through, two SWAT members come up to him with their shields in front of them(as if it could protect them, from him of all people), and he pauses before he notices one of them holding a pair of handcuffs.

Of course.

He holds himself still to make his intentions clear, and the two members warily proceed to cuff him, discretely shying his right hand away when they try to hold it. At the click of the metal signaling he’s officially bound to his fate, he finally looks up for the first time since he got here.

His eyes are met by quite a sight.

The town square had two gigantic screens at the side he’s facing, showing two different newscasters broadcasting two different angles of the scene. His eyes went down to what was in front of him and scanned over the line-up of men at the center of everything, holding their weapons in place and expressions blank as they watch him _. Everybody_  is watching him—the people, the army, the police, the journalists, the world…Matt.

Matt’s probably watching this. He breathes in. He was ready, and he still is.

He faces his head towards the two members each, which was their cue to step aside and allow him to move forward. The entire square had gone so quiet that he could practically hear their footsteps as they followed behind him, ensuring his captivity. He doesn’t like the thought of it—this was  _his_  choice. He isn’t caught, nor is he admitting defeat. He’s simply ending his reign…his madness. Nobody gets to look at him like they know exactly where his place is in the world.

Nobody gets to look at him the way Thomas does.

He snickers lightly to himself, ignoring the slight reaction it got from all the eyes dead set on him in favor of picturing the bastard’s smug face in his head. He lowkey wonders if Thomas is the least bit happy of his decision. He should also be watching right now, with Edd…and Matt.

He decides to distract himself by looking back up at the two gigantic screens, both showcasing him through two different angles as he walked forward. He raises his cuffed hands(again, he swears he just heard the whole crowd hold their breaths) and watch as his on-screen selves follow the action, a small idea popping up in his head.

The footsteps behind him disappear when he finally reaches the formation of officers. He watches through the screens how the two run back towards the rest of the SWAT team situated on the right side beside the circle formation. His boots are literally the only things making sound on the concrete now, and the silence becomes so much clearer when he finally stands right on the red mark. A man stood not far from him, positioned away from gunshot, and stares him down with cold eyes. Again, this is nothing compared to Thomas. Nobody could ever hate him as much, and soon Edd will probably hate him too. Again. And Matt…

Why do his thoughts keep coming back to him?  _Now_ , of all times. Goddamn it.

He breaks eye contact with the man to look around for a camera, and sure enough he sees one stationed again just outside of gunshot, checking the angle to see if it matches with the one on the big screens. And it does, the one on the left mirroring his movements in the direction he had been facing. He brings his cuffs up again (the man’s shoulders tensing up), and holds his hands together. Clasping them, sighing a little, then lets go and nods. The man relaxes, and brings a hand up above his head. The action causes an uproar in the crowd, and the screens immediately switch back to news reporters. He laughs at the one on the left screen, a bear mascot lounging in the background as the female reporter struggled with her adjectives to describe his last moments. Apparently their crew looked like they were forced out unto the very back of the crowd because of the sudden rise of shouts and roars. Not so bad for a final sight, though he’d rather see Matt’s face, so he closes his eyes and pictures just that, drowning the noise around him.

He breathes in.

_So…this is where it ends._

“…”

…

Five seconds pass.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

He opens his eyes and looks around, everybody’s gone silent again.

He looks in front of him in confusion, the man who was supposedly in charge of signaling his death definitely not signaling, hand still in the same position above his head, and is not even looking at him. He looks around again, and  _nobody_ ’s looking at him, noticing that they’re looking at where the left screen should be.

But before he could see what they’re so intently looking at with mortified looks on their faces, he hears a whooshing sound above him and he looks up just in time to see a…a harpoon, slicing through the air, through the silence.

It hits right through the center of the big screen on the right, the crash sounding painfully loud and everyone clamps their hands on their ears at the sound of strong buzzes and sparked electrical wiring and strings of white noise. Bright white sparks burst out of it like a fireworks display and Tord stares at them, almost feeling himself clench his metallic hand. It falls back a little, then slowly slumps forward, until the gigantic thing starts falling forward and crashes down right where the SWAT team and a fairly huge crowd of people are.

The sight drew a bigger reaction from the crowd, because although it’s not exactly crushing them flat it’s without a doubt a bone-breaking crash. His eyes went wide as saucers behind his helmet and his head whips towards the left screen before he could even blink.

In place of the reporter from before was the bear mascot, except now it’s definitely a different person considering it’s only wearing the bear head. Under it reveals not the rest of the bear suit, but instead…a blue hoodie and a flask hanging off at the side of it’s jeans with a harpoon gun hanging off the other. A man wearing the rest of the costume is lying unconscious in the background and it doesn’t seem to be affected by him. It fiddles with the microphone, then makes a motion of clearing it’s throat, muffled speaking, and he honestly doesn’t know what’s even happening anymore.

_“—ello? Hello? This thing on? Crap, this thing smells.”_

The voice confirms it. No matter how muffled it sounds, he’d know that voice from anywhere and his hands clench and unclench and  _for the love of anime boobs and Matt can he just die now_.

_“Can you guys hear—oh, yeah. Definitely. Wow my voice is loud. Okay, uuum. Give me a sec, that harpooning stunt cut my finger a little.”_

Thomas.

Fucking Thomas.

_Fucking Tom._

His mouth gapes, and he’s glad nobody can see how ridiculous his face probably looks. But nobody can beat the crowd—all eyes darting around to look at one another, murmurs buzzing over what’s transpiring in front of them while two or three newscasters he spotted have seemingly forgotten to do their jobs. Nobody’s changing the media on the screen, no technical guy or who-fucking-ever somehow in their right mind to turn this shit off and get the show back on the road. Somehow he understands why—after what the fuck just happened, Tom’s the show now, and nobody knows what he’s going to do next, not even him. So he watches.

Tom clears his throat again, and his voice booms through the square. It could probably be heard for miles.

_“Listen up ladies and gentleman of the, uh, the world. I guess—oh.”_ He could literally see the look of realization on Tom’s face behind the bear head and crappy screen lighting as the man looks at his microphone. _“This is CNN. Yep, definitely the world. Perfect.”_

Tom breathes in before saying, “ _You guys see that little fucker at the center of this little town square here?”_  Tom motions through the camera to  _him_ , which means he’s somewhere behind the crowd if he knew where to position his hands like that. Eyes that had been watching Tom intently turn back to him, and he can feel the attention simmering with realization that he’s still here.  _“Yeah? You should know him, the “Red Leader” as everyone so fabulously calls him. I know, pretty lame right? Sounds like somebody got too lazy to name him if you ask me. What’d they call that one guy on—you know? I forgot. Anyway whoever that guy was probably had a better supervillain name. If you ask me I would’ve preferred something like “Faggatron” or “Asshole-douchebag” cause seems pretty fitting but someone’s got bad taste I guess and wow again, my voice is loud. You all confused yet?”_

He looks around again, and the people, including the officers(well, except the fallen SWAT team) are definitely thrown off alright. The hushed whispers have elevated to something akin of seriously troubled confusion and he can’t blame them. Really, he can’t. If anybody could turn the supposedly most awaited execution of the decade into a freak show, it’s just gotta be Tom.  If he could burn a hole through Tom’s head right now he would. He wants to shank him. Really, this is clearly not the time for his stupid ass remarks and  _why is he even here_ —

He notices the man in front of him snap out of it and motion for the officers surrounding him to take off in the direction where Tom should be, and their movements get caught on the overview at the bottom right of the screen.

_“Oh, shit, the cops are coming. Alright, let me start over quickly. Ehem.”_

The officers pause in their strides to watch Tom again even as the man yells at them to ignore him. They don’t. Everyone stays rooted to their spots, just watching Tom, including the crowd, including him. He feels his breath hitch.

_“This “Red Leader” you see here…”_  Tom motions with his free hand, probably rolling his eyes, then trails off. His bear head’s eyes suddenly stare into the camera, almost looking through it.  _“I’m not…I’m not letting him off easy this time. I mean yeah, I know, he’s an evil, crazy psychopathic nutjob and he sure as hell deserves a good ass-whipping, I can assure you of that.”_

Tom points up a finger.  _“But let me make this clear.”_  He steps closer to the camera, and he…Tord, swears he can see Tom’s black, voids for eyes through the bear’s mask, and it’s a look he knows way too well.  _“Hey, officers.”_

The murmurs and whispers start up again until the screen shows Tom raise his free hand in a fist, and Tord can hear the smirk in his voice as he says:

_“If anybody’s handing this commie fuck’s ass to him…it’s gonna be me.”_

And soon as he says it, his fist comes in contact with the screen. It goes black with a sickeningly loud sound of a crack, erupting a small round of gasps and startled shrieks from most of the spectators. Tord grimaces himself—he’s always had sensitive hearing.

When nothing follows but static on the screen for a few seconds and a muted cola ad pops up, everybody just stares at it in silence. Tord’s senses, almost as if remembering they existed, worked all at the same time, taking it all in. The background of the ad looks blindingly bright in contrast to the gloomy sky, the air smells faintly of smoke, the cuffs in his hands suddenly drop in temperature, his mouth tastes dry, and his ears—

Nobody moves, not even the officers, for a moment, waiting for something to happen until they finally realize they’re not supposed to be waiting for anything and face Tord in unison, bringing their guns up in front of them and preparing to rapid fire when the sound of a horn wails in the distance behind him.

He spins around just in time to see people’s heads parting amongst the crowds coupled by screams as the sound of a car engine comes closer and closer, until the next thing Tord knew, a vehicle—a grey Honda Civic that he doesn’t remember being owned by anyone he knew— comes flying out of the crowd, nearly running officers over making them trip themselves, and it’s coming up to Tord at top speed.

For a moment Tord thought Tom was gonna run him over, staying true to his words just thirty seconds ago—but that’s all it was, a moment. It happens fast. In a swift, nearly distorted version of reality Tord’s not quite sure is even real anymore, the car suddenly swerves to it’s side and continues to drift towards him, the back door opening, and the next thing he knows is he gets swooped in, back first into the other side of the car’s interior with a loud thump when it comes to an abrupt stop.

The door that swallowed him in shuts. Through the window, he’s shown an angle of the screen and it has already switched back to the overview. People are running and screaming, there are two helicopters flying overhead, and Tord whips his head to the driver’s seat, confused eyes meeting Tom’s through his helmet and the fucking bear head.

“’Sup, asshole.” Tom greets, and he pulls the car into reverse as he spits out, “Buckle the fuck up.”

Tord doesn’t even get a word in before Tom’s foot slams on the gas, tires screeching like hell as they are backing up at an inhumane speed.

The action causes Tord to topple over and hit his head inside his helmet, painfully, then struggles to sit upright(limbs all over the place) when Tom stops the car again with a horrible sounding shriek. “Tom sto—!“

Tom facing at him pointedly with the bear head would have been ridiculous if not for the situation Tord almost forgets they’re in. People panicking, helicopters hovering, gunfire—shit, now there’s fucking  _gunfire_  even with all the people running and  _it only should’ve been him_ —his train of thought cuts off when Tom uses the stupidly huge bear mask to slam Tord’s head, shoving him back into the backseat. The engine roars with life as he shifts the gear into drive with insanely fast hands and he starts speeding out of the square and back into the highway.

Tord could feel himself getting buried into the seat at how fast Tom’s currently going, but still manages to force himself to the door on his right. He looks out and tries to get a glance above them, but received his confirmation anyway when a bullet gets shot through the ceiling and a hole is left in it’s wake, landing another on the seat right beside him. He doesn’t flinch, but Tom does. “Shit! Are you dead?!”

“I should be!” Tord yells back when Tom makes the sharpest turn he’s ever seen anyone do in his life, slamming him into the other side of the car. He cusses out and two seconds later sirens start emitting from behind them. Motherfucker.

“Aw right, spoke too soon!” Tom says calmly, even when the helicopters hovering above them can be visible through the windshield. How the hell is he even driving this fast with that thing on his head? “Sorry to crash the party then huh?!”

“You’re an  _idiot_!” Tord manages to say even when the gravity of the situation’s literally pushing the air out of his chest. “Stop the car—just—you’re being batshit  _crazy_  right now!”

“Wow! Shut the fuck  _up_ , dude!” The venom in Tom’s voice stings even when he forces out a fake laugh, “Fuck you! Fucking fuck fuck you!”

Tord nearly retorts when something stops him—another bullet, except this time it comes from behind them. Tord hears the lead scrape the side of his helmet in a flash before it’s marked it’s presence on the windshield. He cranes his neck to see the cop on the passenger seat of the car aiming towards him. He nearly scoffs, because at that angle even a fucking five year old would have shot his brains out by now, when he realizes he’s behind the driver’s seat and freezes.

They’re aiming for Tom.

They’re on the left side of the road and the cop car shifted to the right, now giving a perfect angle for the cop to shoot at. Just as he realizes it, he sees the cop’s thumb visibly pull the trigger because at times like these his eyes are both a blessing and an asshole.

_Thousand fuckshits._

“Fuck  _you_ , Thomas!” Tord yells as he hastily scrambles himself into the front seat. Before Tom could ask him what the fuck he’s doing Tord finds just what he’s looking for—the harpoon gun at the floor of the passenger’s seat. The first thing he does is cut his cuffs with the spear with ease. After that he doesn’t bother to get into a comfortable position. He twists his body in record time, breaks the passenger window with an ear-piercing smash and aims. “Fuck you times a  _million_!”

He pulls and the harpoon shoots out to the other car, crashing through the windshield and piercing the cop right through the shoulder. The driver obviously lost his cool, car stopping but not before spinning like crazy, the distance between them now stretching in seconds. Tord sighs in relief before finally feels the air breezing heavily though his uniform and looks up.

“Oh you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Tord mutters harshly as he aims again at the one of the helicopters when Tom suddenly shouts “Get inside!”

Tord fruitlessly glares at him. “Make me—!”

Tom swivels the wheel to the left and car  _fucking tilts on it’s side_ , forcing Tord back inside, the back of his helmet hitting the head of the window in the process. The car’s still running when it falls back down on four wheels. “What the fuck was that for?!”

Tom gestures in front of him. “That!”

He faces so to see that they’re fast approaching an ongoing traffic, the back of cars lining up on the road like a wall—and Tord really wants to die now. Really he does this is bullshit. He should have been dead earlier but now he’s still alive and there’s an equally would-be dead idiot next to him and they’re fucked because they’re getting closer and closer and it doesn’t seem to be moving anytime soon either—then he sees it, an alley opening up on the right, and he knows Tom sees it because the car’s shifting in that direction.

It would be a good idea if the alley doesn’t look like the car would have to be sliced in half to fucking fit.

They’re only a second away now when, “Don’t do it Thomas—!“

Tom voices it out, sounding irritably unfazed.

“Too late.”

He swerves the car to drift sideways like he did back at the square and flips the fucking car to it’s side just in time when they reach the alley, and enter through it. Tord scuffles to clutch at the head of his seat and find a place to put his feet in because the car is driving through an alley fucking  _sideways_. He looks down mortified at Tom whose looking way too calm beneath him.

“How the hell are you even doing this?!” Tord tightens his grip trying way too damn hard not to fall on Tom. The latter(who’s somehow magically sitting upright) doesn’t answer. “ _TOM_!”

“Are the helicopters still above us?!”

“You—how am I supposed to look?!”

“You look up dumbass!”

Tord’s torn between saying  _“What the fuck?! Are we really having this conversation while you’re driving us through a fucking alley sideways like a lunatic?!”_  and  _“If I fall on your sorry ass don’t blame it on me_.” But doesn’t say anything because Tom’s question is answered not one, or two, but  _five_  consecutive bullets shot through the window next to Tord’s head.

“Son of a  _bitch_.”

“Get on me!”

Tord’s neck nearly split getting back into place. “ _What_?!”

“Fucking lean on me!” Tom’s one hand shoves the harpoon gun into Tord’s chest. “Shoot it!”

“I’m gonna crush you!”

“Since when do you fucking care about crushing me?! Just do it!” The exit to the alley’s getting closer, and no doubt they’re gonna get shot down the moment they get out. Tord grits his teeth. “Tord,  _now_!”

He lets go of his hold on the seat and falls down on Tom. The action causes Tom to stir the car a little but Tord ignores it(and the fact that he’s practically pressed up to Tom’s side), turning on his back so it’s pressed up to Tom and he’s facing the helicopter now, positioning the harpoon gun.

He shoots, but not before he says, “Told you I’m heavy.”

When the harpoon collides with a wing and the helicopter all but explodes, slamming into the other, both slowly falling out of sight(on fire), Tom mutters “I know.”, as if it meant something more than that. Tord almost points it out when the car is suddenly back on all fours and he’s surged forward, slammed back into his side of the car. He stays like that for a few seconds, regaining his composure.

“You seriously need to stop doing tha—“ Tord cuts off in surprise because the car doesn’t feel as fast as it had been. He pushes himself off the door and properly settles into his seat. When he faces Tom the man’s already taken off the bear mask, revealing stressed out features covered by his blank expression. It’s like Tom’s doing an impression of him, so it’s weird.

Everything seems to have settled down though—the sirens sound faint, which meant the helicopters weren’t able to give their location away. They’re driving through a quiet part of town that Tord doesn’t recognize, though he follows Tom and takes off his helmet. The first thing he feels is dry, then incredibly fucking tired, subconsciously plopping back on his seat.

They stay like that for a moment—Tord blindly staring ahead, not taking note of where they’re actually going and he doesn’t think Tom does either, the man clearly just driving with a haze to his features. The sky only seemed to get darker until tiny droplets started visibly tapping on the windshield(that had a hole in it) and at the side of his face(that’s next to a now windowless car door). He glances at Tom, at his right hand, at the harpoon gun, at the bear mask…and at that Tord suddenly remembers Matt again.

It’s so sudden that it throws him off, then as if a bucket of ice cold water was poured on him he recalls pretty much everything that just happened. He looks down, chin to his chest, and open his palms even though he still hasn’t taken off his gloves. That’s the thing—he wasn’t planning to. He didn’t exactly plan to still be  _alive_  right now, to be breathing, and seeing, and remembering Matt,  and somehow feeling, after everything he’s done to get the end that he had been awaiting for months—heck, years if he counted previous reasons, but nope. He’s still here. .

Basically.

He’s still alive.

Because of Tom.

That’s…fucking confusing.

Tord’s cut out of his thoughts when Tom clears his throat.

Tom’s silent as his hand reaches for something under the dashboard, then brings out his red hoodie.

Tord’s eyes are wide as he stares down at Tom’s hand, which is holding out the fabric to him. “Put it on.”

He stares at the hoodie, then at Tom. For a while long enough that Tom’s hand starts shaking a little.

“…why?”

Tom gives him a brief side-glance, his hand unwavering. “Because that get-up makes you look like an evil crazy shit-ass douchebag that just took down a car and a helicopter?”

“ _Thomas._ ” Tord says in his firm but calm tone that he knows usually affects him, and sure enough he gains a bit of a flinch. “Just tell me.  _Why?_ ”

Tom’s hand finally drops, leaving Tord’s hoodie on his lap as it goes back to grip on the steering wheel. He continues driving, not saying anything.

Tord nearly speaks up again when he notices Tom’s fists clench tightly around the steering wheel, a frown on his face slowly approaching. “What do you mean why…?” He asks, almost whispering, as if he’s holding something back.

“Why did you stop them?”

Tom looks like he’s about to snap. “I’m sorry,  _what_?”

Tord doesn’t understand why he looks so worked up, but presses on. “Why did you…stop them from killing me? Did you read my…um,” Tord trails off, and when Tom doesn’t reply he doesn’t know if he’s relieved or not, “…yeah, so dude, what the fuck just happened? Why the fuck did all this,” Tord motions to the harpoon gun, to Tom’s bear mask, to the bullets holes inside the car, “—just happen? That’s all I’m asking. I’m so fucking confused right now.”

Then it happens, Tom lets out a long, breathy sigh before parking the car next to what looks like an abandoned junkyard, then leans back and…rolls back his shoulders. Tord knows what that means.

Tom’s snapped.

“Get out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep.  
> So guess what i didnt delete the response because ya'll recommended me songs under there and i wanna keep those forever like SeriOUSly guys i love all of you for giving me songs thats like giving me free happy pills
> 
> Seriously, thankyou. and leave a comment because dAMN this was 5k words can you believe it i cant.  
> next time. soon. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> if you decide to leave a comment or recommend me songs, or b o t h, im officially in love with you.  
> thank you for reading this far :D


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